


burn to ash

by bethaboo



Category: One Direction (Band), X Factor (UK) RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, Future Fic, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Relationship(s), Post-The X Factor Era, Reunion Sex, Sad Harry, Sad Louis, Sappy, Secret Relationship, Take Me Home Tour, The X Factor Bungalow, The X Factor Era, Touring, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Up All Night Tour, Where We Are Tour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-06 10:08:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 116,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1854157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethaboo/pseuds/bethaboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is sitting there, so fucking casual, and Louis realizes in a split second he was not ready. When Harry walked out in Detroit and never looked back, he was a boy verging on a man, still only twenty years old, but there's a man in his place now. Hard and resolute, yes, but still, for the first time in a long time, Louis can kind of see the old Harry in him. The soft, directness of his gaze, the hesitant smile he gives to Lou, the way he wrings his ridiculously large hands in his lap.</p>
<p>He's a little bit the eager sixteen year old puppy dog again, his innocence and sweetness resurrected miraculously, and Louis freezes in place. He was prepared to face the asshole Harry. He was prepared to meet a whole new Harry. </p>
<p>Louis is not prepared to meet one of the old incarnations of Harry, and it absolutely tears him up.</p>
<p>Or the fic where Harry spirals out of control, the band breaks up, and then he shows back up, five years later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I am pretty much the most non-British person ever. So I try to put in a bit of Brit, but I'm pretty much hopeless. So apologies for that up front. Also, first m/m fic, so despite the massive inspiration that is Larry Stylinson, I may do a total shit job.
> 
> Also I kind of love (like, LOVE, LOVE) flashbacks. Warning in advance.
> 
>  
> 
> [EDIT: here's a playlist of all the songs I mention in this story PLUS a bunch of other great music that inspired me while I was writing this story](http://hypster.com/playlists/user/bethaboolou?7084984)  
> 

  **June 2019**

 

There are a lot of  moments that stand  quite  clear in Louis' mind; he's had a rather amazing time of it in his life, and there are  more  than  a few that  he knows most  blokes might kill for. Madison Square Garden,  Wembley, winning a VMA, winning a Brit. Then there are the moments that Louis remembers because they changed his life irrevocably afterwards.

His X-Factor audition.

Torn.

Hearing "What Makes You Beautiful" on the radio for the very first time.

And Zayn showing up at his door five years after One Direction officially went their separate ways.

It had been a rather ordinary day before that, the same way that the previous five years had seemed alarmingly, horribly ordinary to Louis.

He doesn't really miss the crowds and the hassle and the nonsense, and it's been nice to be home and get as much sleep as he wants and play FIFA to his heart's content. He's even been working on his songwriting, but only with other artists. Nothing for himself. Even if he could stomach the thought of going back on the stage, the songs always end up way too personal for him to ever sing himself.

He'd give everything away, and after so many years of hiding, it's become a depressing habit.

It's midday when Louis hears the knock and answers it without even glancing in the peephole. He's gotten out of that habit too. The  paps left him alone six months into the split, once they figured out he wasn't going to do anything interesting other than jaunt to the Tesco--or once they figured out Harry wasn't going to be coming back anytime soon, and if he did, this house on a quiet side street in London wouldn't ever be his destination .

But when he opens the door and Zayn is standing there, completely unannounced, Louis can't help but feel the sluggish heart in his chest accelerate. Maybe in fear. Maybe in hope. Maybe they're the same thing now . It's so hard to tell one from the other, anymore.

"Zayn," he still crows, throwing his arms around the man for a big hug. "It's so good to see you, man. Come in."

Zayn's expression is so solemn even through this introduction that Louis feels even sicker.

It's bad news. It's definitely bad news. Louis tries to glance behind him for a handy seat so he can sit down before Zayn lays it on him.

"Sorry I didn't  ring before," Zayn says so hesitantly that Louis almost wants to grab and shake him and demand he get on with it.

"It's fine, I never see enough of the lads these days. You've been busy with  Perrie and the baby, I'm sure."

"Busy, yeah," Zayn says.

"So what brings you my way?" Louis finally gets up the courage to ask.

"Lou," he says, his voice so worried that Louis is actually, really afraid now. "I know this is going to be hard for you to hear. . ."

The truth is that nothing can be worse than  utter silence.

Because Louis' imagination, which he'd never considered particularly active before, has spent the last five years filling in the blanks. And these are the thoughts that keep him up nights, and drive him to drink more than is probably healthy.

Okay .  There's no  probably about it. He definitely drinks  more than is healthy.

"Just say it, Zayn," Louis finally intercedes. "Just say it."

Zayn takes a deep breath, and looks right up into Louis' eyes. "Harry 's back in London."

Louis isn't certain whether he is absolutely blindingly angry, or if he's relieved. He's not dead. That was something he wondered many times a day, every single day in the last five years. The knots constricting his heart unwind the tiniest bit.

But the anger is still definitely there. Zayn has seen him then. He went to Zayn first. There is something so inherently  wrong  about this.

"He came to see me," Zayn continues, confirming Louis' fury. "And then he went to see Liam."

"What about Niall?" The question is practically wrenched out of Louis' uncooperative throat.

The only confirmation from Zayn is the minutest nod of his head, but it's enough. Whatever was holding Louis' heart together before disintegrates and he feels it just  splinter. A million fucking pieces, right there in his foyer. He gropes behind him, wishing that they'd made it in the living room and then he could sit on a proper chair. But there's a staircase behind him and Louis drops onto a step like the breath's just been knocked out of him--and he supposes that it has. That's the least of it, anyway.

"He's better," Zayn says. "He's dry. Or so he  claims."

"Do you believe him?" For a second, Louis wants to make a snide comment that it doesn't fucking matter if he's dry or not, but they both know that's a huge lie.  Of course  it matters. It's always mattered. More even to Louis than to the other three, but that's just semantics.

Zayn shrugs. "That's not the worst of it though. He. . ." Zayn clears his throat. "He had a lawyer with him."

Louis doesn't even know what to say. He pays only the most basic attention in their  twice-yearly meeting, when the old management team gives updates on royalties and residuals. And Louis dreads these meetings because there's always a point where someone clears their throat and inserts that there's been zero word from Harry, and his portion of the profits are deposited in the same bank account as usual. The money has still never been touched.  Etc , etc.

Louis has known forever that he will never get over it. He will spend the rest of his life hating and loving Harry Styles with equal parts, though some days are a bit more uneven than others. But hearing this report every four months guts him, and he usually spends that night in a completely ironic fog of vodka.

At first the others tried to spend that night with him, taking him out, keeping him in, trying to be supportive in the only ways they knew. But they have wives now, and in Zayn's case, a family. They have better things to do than try to pull Louis out of his spiral.

Or maybe they just decided it was hopeless, and decided it was better to let him be. Louis has never been sure of the specifics, only that he's glad they stopped trying so hard. Because he is never going to stop spiraling at the thought of Harry.

The very  concept is laughable.

"I know everything is above board," Louis says. "Management, for all their fucking idiocy, always knew how to make a pound. "

Louis and the rest of them will never have to work a day in their lives ever again. Their children probably won't either.

Even the thought of a child makes Louis' poor, destroyed heart thump in his chest.

"That's not the issue, apparently." Zayn takes another deep breath, as if  this  is the bad news, and Louis nervously taps his sock-clad foot on the wooden floor. "There's apparently an unfinished clause in a contract.  Because the last tour was never technically complete. So  Harry wants us to do a reunion tour."

This is the very last thing Louis  ever  expected Zayn to say and the words literally take his breath away. He can only sit there and gape.

"A reunion? A tour? "

Zayn nods. "I've seen the contract. My lawyer--no, fuck that my  lawyer's  lawyer looked at the contract. He says it's solid."

There is a steady headache pulsing behind Louis' temples. He wants to laugh hysterically,  desperately  at this.

But it's not funny at all, and really, it's even less funny because it's beginning to sound like he and the other lads might actually have to do this thing.

"I'm retired," Louis tries gamely to make a joke but it falls flat when Zayn just stares at him.  "I literally haven't been on a stage since. . ." Louis can't finish the sentence but then he doesn't need to because Zayn was there and Zayn knows. Probably better than just about anyone else.

"I wish that mattered, Lou," he replies softly. Zayn always did have the softest, kindest voice out of all of them.

"It matters to me," Louis retorts and now he's definitely edging onto hysteria.

Zayn shoves his hands in his pockets and mutters, "I told  Payno it would be better coming from him."

Louis abruptly stands and starts pacing, his hands and his voice going a mile a minute. "It wouldn’t matter  who  the fuck it came from. I am not doing this, I won't do it, I'll fucking bankrupt myself first. I'll  . . ." and then he stops abruptly and realizes what he is saying. Realizes who depends on him. Realizes that a few years ago he bought a bloody soccer team and he can't just drag that whole organization into a muddy, awful fight only to probably lose in the end. 

"I take it you aren't going to fight it either," Louis says, kind of impressed at how even and normal he suddenly sounds.

"I don't know how we can," Zayn admits. "But there 's  a meeting tomorrow, and we're all kind of hoping we can  talk him out of it."

"And this is why you came here today. To tell me about the meeting." Louis doesn't understand this anger that's building inside him. It feels too big for his own chest, for his own body to contain.

"Yes. You should be there." Zayn says this like it's no big deal. Like it would be absolutely  no sweat  for Louis to face the man who tore his heart into little pieces, then stomped on it for good measure.

"And you've known about Harry for. . ." Louis scratches his head. "A week? At least?"

"A week," Zayn admits hesitantly. "We didn't want to tell you, Lou, unless we had to. We knew it would upset you."

Louis lets out a shaky breath. Harry's been alive for a week,  confirmed, and nobody wanted to tell him.

"Next time," he says as politely as he can but Louis knows Zayn can hear the strain in it, "tell me."

Zayn nods vigorously. "Of course, of course, mate. I know. I just. . ."

Louis' anger softens and he drops back down to the step. "I know. You meant well."

The only one who clearly doesn't mean well is Harry.


	2. Chapter 2

  **June 15, 2019**

 

The meeting is at their old management company--old habits die hard, Louis supposes, remembering the dozens of times over the four years of One Direction they were called to this office. Most frequently it was him and Harry, so they could be told yet  again  that they were doing an utter shit job at hiding their relationship.

Four years. . .five years. Louis has a horrible, heart-wrenching realization that they've now been apart longer than they were ever together, and he has to grit his teeth together hard to hold back the gasping sob that wants to escape him.

He's a fucking wreck, plain and simple.

Liam called after Zayn left, and had actually been the one to insist that Louis didn't have to be there at all. He said that the others could just as easily speak for him, that he doesn't have to be there in person. What Li is really saying is that he doesn't have  to face Harry.

But Lou knows better; he knows  Harry  better. If he's made his mind up about this fucking tour (and all evidence points to this), then he won't budge. The only chance they have is if all four of them are so against it they can somehow convince him it's a bad idea, that it isn't in their best interest.

One of the things he'd always treasured in  Haz is how utterly selfless he is. Or he  was, Lou corrects, still hating the fact that somehow, along the way, something intrinsic and fundamental in  Harry's personality changed, and he became this horribly selfish, nearly  mean  person. The kind of person who self-destructs on purpose.

But Harry used to be sweet and caring and selfless, way back when, and that was the only way they could ever convince him to change his mind when it was made up--to say that if he continued on he would actually  hurt  one of them. Louis doesn't put much stock in this tactic working now, really too much has changed, but he agrees with Liam and Zayn and Niall that it's the only legitimate chance they have.

Still, Louis does  not  look forward to the moment he has to look Harry in the eye and tell him that he hasn't been on a stage in five years and that getting on one now will  raze to the ground the tiniest bit of stability he's built for himself.

He will probably also have to deal with the fact that Harry doesn't even give a shit about that. After all, he hasn't given a shit about letting them know he was safe during the last five years.

Even a fucking text message to tell them he wasn't dead. Louis doesn't think he even slept the first year, the worry was so awful.

Eventually he learned to sleep, despite the worry and despite being alone, and he almost hated that more. Moving on felt  wrong, like a shoe three sizes too small being crammed on his foot. But to become a functioning member of society again, Louis needed to move on at least a  little.

Still, he's long  come to terms with the fact that he will never stop loving the Harry of the X-Factor toilets and the Harry of the blazers and skintight jeans and glowing green eyes and soft, downy curls. He'll never get over the Harry with the tattoos and flat, muscular stomach and heat in his gaze. He'll never move past the way it felt to wrap himself around the boy he loves.

He chooses to remember those Harrys. He hates the selfish asshole Harry who threw his love away like it was nothing and chose to drown every sorrow alone instead of facing them together. He hates the Harry who left him and didn't even bother to say he was still alive.

"Are you  gonna be okay?" Liam asks, putting a hand on Louis' back. The gesture is old and reassuring and Louis can almost see himself getting through this. At least the other lads are here, and if Harry does or says  anything , he knows they will turn their backs on him in a moment. They're loyal lads, yes, and used to be so loyal to Harry and him  and the band, but they've watched what the last five years has done to Louis. Plus, they've got every right in the world to be fucking pissed too.

"I'll manage," he laughs, but the sound comes out metallic and bitter.

Li grabs the back of Louis' jacket and stops him from entering the conference room. "You really don't have to do this."

But Louis has braced himself. He stayed up late last night, forcing himself to scroll through old pictures of Harry on his iPad. He's reminded himself of the love and of the despair. The least he can do is look his old lover in the eye and tell him he's being a selfish dick.

"Yeah, I  kinda do," he says.

He's certain and he's also the tiniest bit curious. Zayn had said he was better, yeah, but what does better even mean? Louis doesn't know, and he is  interested, from a purely scientific perspective, to see what this new Harry is like. After all, he knows all the old Harrys--he may as well meet this one too.

Liam just sighs and opens the conference door. Louis walks in first, and the first person he sees is Niall, blond hair standing messily up. He's got his feet propped up on another chair, and he's leaning back, looking everywhere but in one  particular  direction.

Of course, that's the direction Louis can't help but look. His whole body--every single fucking molecule of his heart, his soul, the whole bit--is drawn to the corner  that Niall  is  resolutely  avoiding.

Harry is sitting there, so fucking casual, and Louis realizes in a split second he was  not  ready. When Harry walked out in Detroit and never looked back, he was a boy verging on a man, still only twenty years old, but there's a man in his place now. Hard and resolute, yes, but still, for the first time in  a long time , Louis can kind of see the old Harry in him. The soft, directness of his gaze, the hesitant smile he gives to Lou, the way he wrings his ridiculously large hands in his lap.

He's a little bit the eager sixteen year old puppy dog again, his innocence and sweetness resurrected miraculously, and Louis freezes in place. He was prepared to  face the asshole Harry. He was prepared to meet a whole new Harry.

Louis is not prepared to meet one of the old incarnations of Harry, and it absolutely tears him up.

"Lou," Harry says, the deep, gravelly voice exactly the same and even worse, it's eager.  Suddenly,  the pain is so bad, so crippling, that for a moment, Louis wonders if he's having some kind of actual medical emergency.

Yes, he's definitely having some kind of stroke or heart attack. That much is abundantly clear.

"Harry," Louis hears from behind him. It's Liam, warning Harry to behave himself. But it doesn't matter, he doesn't even have to say a word to him. It's enough, really, that he's just sitting there in the corner. That he's  real.

Louis still hasn't moved, still hasn't spoken, and Harry's smile droops a little. Louis is still so fucking stupidly in love with him, despite  everything, that he almost wants to say something, if only to resurrect that smile again.

It's pathetic, is what it is.

Behind him, the door opens and closes again. It's Zayn, Lou can smell his cologne in the air, and also by the solid, heavy feel of him in the room. He's spent so much time with these boys, he could pick them out of a crowd of a thousand.

"Good, we're all here," Zayn says, and Louis is suddenly, acutely aware that he's still standing a few steps in the room, a hand bracing on the back of a chair, staring at Harry.

He wants to move, but he just  can't.

Finally Liam puts his hand  over his, and it's  embarrassing the way he has to be practically led to a chair. Like he's fucking four years old. That's what Harry reduces him to.

A mindless, babbling four year old. Okay, maybe more like a mindless, babbling eighteen year old.

Because, let's face it, at eighteen, he was definitely mindless and babbling around sweet-cheeked, baby Harry. An absolute mess of nerves and adoration and a crush he couldn't understand. When he and Harry used to orbit each other like the sun and the Earth.

Harry was always the sun. Sometimes he shone so bright, Louis was blinded with it.

"Let's get started then," Niall says, and he's got this totally hard, angry edge to his voice. Very un-Niall like. He glances over at Lou. "You okay,  Tommo?"

He's not okay. He's not okay at all. But to admit that in front of Harry will be even worse, so he just nods. He doesn’t trust his voice yet. It's bound to come out all high and squeaky and panicky. The way it did sometimes nine years ago, at the beginning, when Harry would  unexpectedly hover too close and Louis would have to remind himself that  he wasn't supposed to fancy his best mate so much.

"I have the contract here," Liam says, and bless him, he sounds so righteously proper and organized. Louis hasn't even looked at the contract, even though Zayn emailed him it to him right away. But he trusts Li, has always trusted him to make good decisions. He's Daddy Direction, after all.

"I don't want to have to hold you to that," Harry says softly and Liam shoots him a glare. Also very un-Liam like. In fact, the only thing familiar in this meeting is Harry, and that practically crushes Lou.

"You're going to have to, mate," Zayn says now, and the word mate is practically growled. "We aren't doing this otherwise."

"Louis, what do you think?" Harry's voice so tentative, it's like he's the baby giraffe again, wobbling on ungainly legs around the X-Factor house.

Louis doesn't know what to think. He's definitely not intending to get anywhere near a stage again. That he is  sure of, and the time has come for him to say what he intended to say.

"I'm done performing," he says flat out. Three simple words. But he finds he can't look up from the shiny wood of the conference table when he says them. Actually looking over at Harry is impossible. He's still the sun and he still burns Lou.

"What?" Harry actually has the nerve to sound surprised. "But you loved  touring, performing."

Louis can hear Liam and Zayn holding a very hushed consultation behind him, and he is fairly certain what it consists of: mostly frustration that this was  not  how it was supposed to go at all.

Harry was supposed to be sober but still an asshole. He wasn't supposed to look at Louis with all that sweet, unguarded concern. He was  supposed to be more worried about himself than everyone else.

Unfortunately that is not the direction this conversation is headed.

Louis takes advantage of their momentary distraction to glance back up at Harry, almost to confirm  again  what he's already seen. He just can't seem to help himself; he wants to drink up this new-old Harry and never let go.

And this is a huge,  really an  enormous, problem.

Louis has gotten almost used to the idea of being alone now, of being without Harry. There's always this haunting emptiness by his side, an echo of a laugh resonating in his mind, a hand that desperately wants to be filled with another. But Lou has learned to shake off the sensation, to be  okay  with the space staying empty. He's cauterized the wound, had to do it to keep going, because god  damnit, he wasn't going to be like Harry, but now the place where the missing limb was is aching fiercely, is burning with pure need.

And just like that, Lou has a panic attack.

Or something like that.

Essentially, suddenly he can't breathe and he's gasping for air, a hand curled around the edge of the table, and the edges of his vision go fuzzy--but not so fuzzy that he can't see the instant Harry knows something is wrong. He's on his feet before Louis can even gasp out that he's  fine,  fuck you very much. And before he can really prepare for it, Harry's hands are on his back, his shoulders, reaching around and tipping back Louis' head.

It's too much. There's the ghost of so many years of memory in those touches, the concern of them far too familiar for Louis' comfort level.

"Louis," Liam snaps and elbows Harry right out of the way.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Lou wheezes out, and suddenly, he's horrifically embarrassed. So much for trying to appear unconcerned by Harry's reappearance. Now  Haz knows exactly how distraught this whole meeting has made him and it's  so  fucking  humiliating.

No doubt Harry has long since moved on. It's been five years, after all--longer than they were even together. Louis is just plain pathetic, keeping the flame going for a man who  left  him and never, ever bothered to let him know he was okay. Not once.

Zayn produces a bottle of water and sets it in front of Louis, who just twists the bottle cap off and grinds it against his palm, feeling the hard edges of the plastic bite into his skin. The pain is almost welcome, it grounds him, and the fuzzy edges of his vision clear up. Harry is still standing next to him, and of course, he's staring at Louis with the same heart eyes he could never hide before.

Fuck Harry and his total inability to act. To hold a front for even ten fucking seconds.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asks softly. "I don't want to upset you."

Niall gives a sharp bark of laughter at this one. "Then you shouldn't have come around, then," he says.

Harry just shrugs, opens his arms wide, like he once opened his heart to everyone, but most of all to Louis. "I can't apologize for what I've done. I know that," he says. "But I never meant to hurt anyone, least of all Lou."

"That’s really rich," Liam says crossly and in the nine years he's known Li, Louis can count on one hand the number of times he's heard him this angry.

"Yeah, maybe you should have thought of that during the last five years," Zayn agrees.

Harry returns to his chair, but out of the corner of his eye, Louis can see that he's curled into himself now, physically and emotionally retreating. God damn it, if he can't read Harry just the way he used to. It's like that horribly nasty mysterious streak he never could understand  has simply disappeared and it's just Harry again.

"I did," Harry says so softly Louis can barely hear him.

"I'm not going to pretend to understand that," Zayn continues in a hard unapologetic voice . "But let's go back to the tour. So Louis is retired. He doesn't perform anymore. And I support that decision."

"But it's a stupid decision," Harry instantly says.

"I hardly think you're the one to say," Niall says. "You weren't here. We were."

"I just . . ." Louis feels like has to intercede, to maybe even try to explain. If maybe he can tell  Haz why  then maybe he will see and he'll let it go. A bloke can hope, anyway. "I just don't sing anymore. I don't want to sing anymore. And performing definitely means singing."

Louis can't miss the guilt etched on Harry's face. He knows it's his fault. Maybe this is why he's here; some kind of fucked up internal punishment for what he pulled all those years ago. Of course, if it's supposed to be  Harry's  punishment, then why does Lou feel like such shit?

"You love to sing," Harry says, and it isn't even a question. It's a statement.

Lou really doesn't want to go into an explanation that trying to sing without Harry in the band was maybe the very worst experience of his entire life. That the handful of venues they tried to play after Detroit were absolute nightmares. He isn't the giving up kind, none of them are, and they wouldn't have just chucked it if the whole experience hadn't been god awful.

Of course, if Louis  does  explain this, Harry will have a great little answer all ready.

It won't be just the four of them this time; they'll have Harry back.

Louis doesn't think he's prepared to explain this is both far better and far,  far  worse.

"You left and there was this fucking gaping hole," Zayn says and it's so much like what Louis remembers it was like that he nearly gasps with remembered pain. "There was a hole and we just couldn't do it. We all hated it, hated it enough to quit the tour. But it was. . ." he hesitates. "It was impossible for  Tommo."

It's practically a humming electric current in the room, the unspoken  reason why it was worse for Louis than for the rest of them: because not only was Lou dealing with losing his bandmate, he was dealing with losing his  soul mate, his lover, the  one  thing he'd never expected to do without.

"I saw some of the footage," Harry says very quietly, and Louis has to wonder again if this is some sort of punishment. It  feels  like punishment.

"We were lost without you,  Haz," Liam admits.

"I'm not even. . ." Harry clears his throat, and maybe Louis is the only one who can see that this soft admonition  from Liam is what has Harry close to breaking down. "I wasn't even really the leader. Lou always was."

He isn't anymore. There isn't anything to lead. And he's not in any kind of shape to do that, even if there was.

"Anyway, we couldn't do it without you. It was too hard. But trying was . . ." Niall tries explaining again but stops because Lou agrees--there aren't really words for what it was like.

 

"But you'll do it, if Louis agrees?" Harry asks, and Louis really hates him for this, for putting the entire decision on his shoulders. But one by one, the other three nod their agreement.

"Can I maybe talk to Lou for a minute?" Harry pauses. Hesitates. "Alone?"   


Louis' breath goes short again but this time he keeps it together enough not to pass out.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Liam says.

"It's a shit idea," Zayn adds.

Louis doesn't even know what he's saying, but suddenly he's agreeing, just like that. "Sure," he says. Like it's no fucking big deal.

He's clearly lost what was left of his mind.

"Are you sure,  Tommo?" Niall asks.

"Sure," he echoes back, even though he's not at all. But he's said it now, so it is what it is.

Louis can feel the ghosting echo of the tattoo needle in his skin.

It is what it is.

The three exit the room without speaking, and Louis just stares at the table as he hears the door shut behind them with a quiet click.

He's alone with Harry for the first time in five years. His heart is beating so impossibly hard in his chest, practically beating out Harry's name. Surely he can hear it, from where he sits in the corner.

"Lou, look at me," Harry asks softly, but there's just the vaguest hint of demand in his voice and god damn it all, if it doesn't remind Louis of all the times Harry gave him that sly, almost boyish look, then ordered him on his knees.

It's possibly the worst memory Louis could dredge up at this particular moment in time.

If he turns to look at Harry now, he'll see the remnants of his arousal there, the tiny bits of spark and heat that Lou's never been able to hide. Everyone always said Harry was a shit actor, and he  definitely is, but Louis was never that great either. His talent has always been in careful words and just plain old avoidance.

Harry sighs. "Talk to me, Lou," he half-demands again.

"I don't have anything to say to you. I only came here to say I'm done singing, I'm done touring, I'm done performing. Done with it all. I won't do it again."

"I don't want to force you to do this," Harry says and Lou can tell he's dragged out his most persuasive voice.

He glances up at his ex-boyfriend. Is he even his ex-boyfriend? Does a breakup count if there isn't an actual breakup? 

Harry's always been stubborn, but Louis is far, far more. Before that last awful tour, they practically never argued but when they did, Louis usually won. "You won't do that," he says steadily, meeting Harry's green eyes.

For a moment, a single moment, Louis sees Harry hesitate. Then his eyes flutter close in  concentration  almost, and then they're wide open again, and so, so determined. More determined than Louis has ever seen them.  


Well, that answers that question. Louis guesses these days, Harry _will _ do that.

"You've changed," Louis offers, mostly because he can't trust himself to talk about the tour more, this fucking tour Harry is going to make him do, and also because they can't really address the elephant in the room: the tattered remnants of their relationship.

"I had to change," Harry says steadily. "I couldn't continue on the way we were. It was killing both of us."

"Just you literally, though," Louis spits out.

"You're angry. You have every right to be."

Louis laughs at that. Yeah, he sure fucking does have a reason to be angry. It's just like Harry to try to validate the way he feels.

"But I want you to put your anger away for a second. Lou, this isn't healthy, you shutting yourself away like this. You're not okay. And I want you to be okay."

"Forcing me on a stage isn't going to make me 'okay,' as you say."

"Yes. Yes it will."

Louis just rolls his eyes at how fucking certain  Haz sounds. Like he's known him every day of these last five years, and can read every word of the agony that's written on his heart.

"Even if I do this, nobody is going to come see us. We're old news. Nobody gives a shit about us anymore." Louis is pretty sure Liam already tried this tactic, because logic is Liam's strong suit, but it's worth a try.

"Actually," Harry smiles wide and Lou freezes at the dimples that emerge. "That's not quite true. I've got it all arranged. Promoter, venues, the whole thing."

Of course. "So it's just up to us to show  up and sing our old shit songs, then?"

"Oh, Lou," Harry sighs. "You have no idea how sorry I am. God, I never wanted to see you like this."

Louis hunches over the table, but he's  not-- refuses to be, really--ashamed of how bitter he is. He deserves a little bitterness, he thinks. Doesn't he have the broken, smashed heart to justify it?

"Then fucking go away," Louis grinds out. "I was perfectly fine before you showed up again."

"I'm not ever going to go away again," Harry says so simply that Louis has to swallow hard to keep the inevitable tears at bay. And he was never the fucking crier, either. That was always  Haz.

"It'll be alright, I promise. We'll make it alright. Like before." Louis doesn't hear Harry even get up, but suddenly he feels his hand resting so gently, so carefully on his hunched over back. The heat of it scalds him, even though a jacket and a jumper and a t-shirt.

"I'll just go get the other lads and the management team and tell them we've figured it out," Harry says then, and the hand is gone just as suddenly as it appeared. But all the way through the rest of the meeting about rehearsals and tour dates and promotion (that Louis ignores, he can't ruin his reputation now), and even through the drive home, he can still feel the imprint of Harry's hand on his skin.

And it burns just like a sunburn.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say a quick thank you for the awesome words and encouragement. New to the fandom and all, it's very, very sweet.
> 
> Also, I was confusing myself with the timeline, so I added in some dates, most specifically to this chapter, and to the other two (though they take place in the same month, same year--June 2019). But it will get more confusing, so that's why I've started.
> 
> And YAY, first flashback! I don't by any stretch of the imagination think I've done their first meeting any kind of justice, I've read WAY better other fics about their first meeting, but I figured we'd better start at the beginning, right?

 

** June 2019 **

Between the meeting and the start of tour rehearsals there's two weeks. That's two weeks for Louis to avoid a certain room in his house, but then he's been avoiding that room for the last few years so it shouldn't be all that tough.

But now that all five of them are back in the same city and really, were in the same bloody room together, it's kind of all that Louis can think about now.

So a few days before tour rehearsals are supposed to start, he finds himself staring at the closed door for about the hundredth time since seeing Harry again, but this time, Louis knows he's going to open the door.

It's a compulsion this time, and on top of that, he knows he has not so long before he's pretty much assaulted with the past, so he might as well acclimate himself now.

There's no furniture in the room. Instead it's full of memories. A stack of framed platinum records rest against one wall, and there's a VMA  Moonman next to them. There's boxes and boxes of tour memorabilia piled all over the room. T-shirts and DVDs and posters and even a huge cardboard cutout of the boys, on the opposite wall. Lou refuses to even look at Harry, but if he did look, he'd see his own arm slung around the boy. Obviously before management decided they couldn't ever be photographed next to each other because he was just too damn in love with him and couldn't fucking hide it.

He knows the box he wants, and blowing the dust off, opens it, and digs around for a minute, finally pulling out the DVD. It's something the X-Factor people put together for them, of all the moments in the house, on stage, interviews, that sort of thing.

Louis figures if he is going to do this, going to have to share the stage with Harry again, it makes sense to go back to the beginning, when everything was bright and perfect and wonderful.

He flops down on the couch in the living room, and remembers when he had to replace this couch, literally could not keep the other one in the house because the memories associated with it were just too strong. It felt wrong to throw his arm around the back and not have it tuck around Harry's shoulder. There'd even been a Harry-sized dip in the cushions, and some nights Louis would just sit there and stare at, as if he could literally conjure Harry back to where he was supposed to be.

Actually, he'd had to get rid of most of the furniture, at one point or another. And about a year after Harry disappeared, the tour ended and the band broke up, Liam and Zayn had showed up at his door, and had sat him down on his new couch and said, "you  gotta get rid of Harry's stuff, man."

He was even wearing an old jumper of Harry's at the time, and Zayn and Liam had exchanged a concerned look when they'd realized it.

"I can't get rid of  Haz's stuff," he'd yelled at them.

"Not rid of, necessarily," Li had insisted. "More like. . .pack away. For when he comes back." Louis had not missed the look he and Zayn and exchanged when he'd said that. So what if they thought Harry was never going to come back; they hadn't been Harry's fucking love of his fucking  life .

"I don't get it," Louis says.

"We're going to go pack up his stuff," Zayn said. "You can either help us or sit here."

"You can't do this," Louis yells again. "It's not your stuff."

"Lou," Zayn says softly, "you can't sit here and wallow in it. I know you want to, but you just can't. It's not good for you."

He'd sat on the corner of the bed he'd shared with Harry and cried as Zayn and Liam had packed up Harry's clothes and his books and his records. There had been so much that they'd shared together, that at points it had been too hard for Louis to even watch, and he'd had to bury his face in his hands. But he'd still seen the helpless look that Zayn and Li had exchanged, as they tried to decide what to pack and what to leave. Lou had felt his heart spilt that day, pulled in one direction, then another. And this day, even years later, he can still feel the crack and the scar tissue that surrounds it.

When it was finally over, the boys had ordered in Indian and Louis had proceeded to drown his sorrows in beer after beer, but the boys still hadn't left. They'd ended up sprawled on the couch all night long, Liam snoring like a fog horn , next to Zayn, and Louis curled in a chair. He didn't have the heart to tell the lads that he hadn't actually been sleeping in the bed. That he couldn't really, not without Harry next to him, and that the couch was usually  his.

Early the next morning, his phone had rang, and for one blinding split second, he'd looked down at the screen and thought, "it's Harry, he's finally calling, now that the lads have gone and packed up all his stuff." But of course, it wasn't Harry. It had been Niall, calling to make sure he was okay.

"I wish I  coulda been there, mate," he'd apologized and Louis had squeezed his eyes shut, hating how gritty they still felt. Hating the pounding headache behind them, but most of all hating how he wondered if Harry was waking up much the same way somewhere else in the world,  hungover . Maybe in pain. And he'd be alone.

At least Louis has Zayn and Niall and Liam. He doesn't know what he'd ever do without them. Probably he'd be dead. The instant this thought crosses his mind, Louis drops the phone on the chair cushion and rushes to the bathroom. The Indian food burns horribly as it comes up, but it still  hurts less than his heart  does.

But after that day, Louis does get better. He learns to sleep in the bed again. He has to buy all new sheets and comforter and everything, and almost considers burning the old, as if physically destroying them can erase all the memories that he and Harry made on them. Never before had Lou ever truly understood that movie, the one with Jim Carrey and Kate  Winslet , where they erase the memories of their old lover, but he understands it now.

It would be so much easier if he never remembered Harry Styles existed.

But the years go on, and slowly, Lou realizes that's not true at all. He's got lots of great memories, fantastic ones really, and sometimes when he's down, when it feels like he'll break down from feeling too alone, he reaches for one.

Often, he will reach for a memory from the X Factor era, when Harry was a sweet, baby-cheeked sixteen, and eighteen year old Louis, maybe two years older, but necessarily any wiser, had taken one look at him and just been  gone .

There's so much joy in those memories, and Lou is okay that with so much time, he's forgotten some of the details. The heat of them still warm him when he's feeling chilly.

He's never felt the need to go searching for the old X Factor DVD he's just shoved into the player, but Louis knows if he's going to do this, he'd better do it properly.

He's also made sure he's well stocked with beer and crisps. Emergency necessities. He's texted Liam and Zayn and Niall and told them what he's doing. Taking a trip down memory lane, he' s told them, and  it’s both an acknowledgement and a silent warning.

Basically, he begs them, come find me if I fall too far into the past.

The DVD begins to play, and suddenly, almost too quickly for Louis' comfort level, there's baby Harry on the screen, all smile and hair and big, big eyes.

Even back in Holmes  Chappel he must have been larger than life, Lou muses, or maybe it's that he's just always been the exact key for the lock that is Louis' heart.

** July 10, 2010 **

Louis is nervous. Like really, really, horribly nervous. He plays it off like it's no big deal, but the fact is, he's so nervous he can barely keep himself from getting sick. So he excuses himself and after splashing some water on his face and trying to psych himself up for his audition, he turns to the wall of urinals, situating himself at the end.

He usually does this. He's not really comfortable being that close to other dicks, really. He secretly is too fascinated by them, deep down, in a hidden place he doesn't like visiting like  ever so he just tries to avoid them. 

He doesn't know it yet but avoidance is going to turn out to be a lifelong Louis Tomlinson trait.

He's just whipped out his dick, and is literally in the  middle  of peeing, when he feels someone sidle up to the urinal  right next to his . And really, how fucking weird is that, Louis thinks. There are literally five open, and this guy has to go right next to him. 

In his experience, something very simple tends to scare guys away. So he turns and glances over at the boy next to him. "Hi," he says.

Now, there's pretty standard urinal protocol. You don't look, you don't turn, you definitely don't start a conversation.

This simple "hi" has scared away any number of lads who have tried to take a whizz right next to him, but unfortunately for Louis, the boy next to him isn't normal by any stretch of the imagination.

He's got huge, wide green eyes, dimples, and a halo of curls. He kind of looks like a cross between a puppy and a fairy and Louis just kind of stares. He can't help himself. In that second, that single split second, he acknowledges to himself what he's known for a few years but could never quite work up the nerve to admit.

He's definitely gay. There is  no way  he can look at a beautiful boy like that and want him so much and not be gay. It's just impossible.

"Oops," the boy says then, and Louis realizes that he's fucking  still  peeing and he's definitely splashed pee onto the boy's sneakers. His face flames horribly red with embarrassment. So much for thinking he's beautiful. He'll never want to talk to him again. In the beautiful boy's mind, he'll be known as that weird creeper who said "hi" to him in the loo and then peed on him. Jesus.

But the boy just smiles beatifically up at him, happiness just radiating out of him. "I'm Harry," he says, dimpling.

Louis has finished peeing, or else sheer embarrassment has finished it for him, and he slips his dick back in his pants. Wandering over to the sink, he washes his hands briskly and glances back over at Harry, who's still staring at him.

"And you are?" Harry asks, picking the sink next to him, even though there are literally four others he could choose from. Louis wonders briefly if he's following him. It's a gorgeous thought. Impossible. But gorgeous.

"I'm Louis," he says. "Louis Tomlinson."

Even though his hands are clearly still wet, Harry extends one towards Louis. He's still beaming, and there's a nearly  otherwordly gleam in his eyes, as if he  knows  what Louis is thinking. As if he knows what Louis just realized a second ago. As if he knows just how beautiful Louis finds him. Fuck, Louis thinks wildly, the whole world probably thinks he's beautiful.

Louis reaches over and carefully shakes, feeling their wet skin slide together, and suddenly, there's a prickling at the base of his spine and though he's never, ever believed in  anything  at first sight, he's tumbling head over heels to the floor.

And he knows he just  can't  let go of this boy.

"I saw your audition, mate," he blatantly lies. "You were so good. Amazing really. I have to get your autograph,"  and your phone number , he mentally adds.

"Really?" Harry asks breathlessly, and Louis glances down then, realizing their hands are still attached, as if they can't bear to let go.

"Really. You're going to be super duper famous. But I won't ever sell it." He can't imagine letting go of anything Harry-related, even for a million dollars. He's that far gone, and it's only been about thirty seconds. If he actually manages to become  friends , even, with Harry, Louis can only imagine how hard he will fall. It would normally be pretty terrifying, except the warmth in Harry's eyes and those soft curls and really,  everything about him feels so damn safe.

"Okay," Harry says, as if it's the simplest thing in the world.

"Let's go then," Louis says, and tugs at Harry's hand. They're still attached, and suddenly it feels less like a handshake and more like they're just holding hands. And really, that's just fine with him, if it's okay with Harry. And only one glance at Harry's glowing expression tells that story.

Really, Louis isn't sure  why  that is exactly, he doesn't think he's so extra special great as all that but if Harry's going to think so, he's definitely not going to correct his false assumption.

And that's how it starts, really.

A conversation in a loo. A handshake. And Louis' heart suddenly isn't his at all anymore.

** June 2019 **

Louis' heart still really isn't his.

He's watching the old X Factor video diaries, and even though he's nine years older, he still remembers what it felt like to sit on those stairs. The feeling of the cold, hard wood under his butt, and the exhilar ation when he'd made Harry laugh. The other boys are a bonus, but if he can make Harry giggle. . .it's a great,  great  day.

He has to drink several beers to feel unembarrassed to watch his ridiculous shenanigans on the camera. He was so busy trying to be the goofy one so he wouldn't ever be labeled the gay one, but frankly watching this now, he doesn't know how they ever convinced a soul that he and Harry weren't head over heels for each other.

He was so fucking gone back then. He'd like to say he'd been too gone on Harry back then to care who knew, but that's not precisely true. He was still half in the closet,  not to the boys and definitely not to Harry, but to the world, yeah. Harry has always been the one who could give a shit what anyone thought of him.

Louis is fairly certain that's what made it harder on Harry than anybody to have his reputation destroyed, rumors spread and a series of women he was never even remotely interested forced upon him. 

Louis never  liked  the idea of Eleanor, but she was useful, in a way. He feels a little guilty now, at the thought, of how he was still the tiniest bit shameful and afraid of what the world would think if they ever found out. He feels sick and  guilty at the fact that he didn't fight harder to get rid of Eleanor in 2013, when Harry said he couldn't do it anymore.

And in 2014, when the video  of Lou and Zayn smoking pot hit the internet, Louis wishes he fought management a little harder on their stupid crackdown.  Fucking better behaved around Eleanor, my ass , he thinks now. Whoever thought that excuse up was not paying the slightest bit of attention.

He should have fought th ose assholes harder. He should have argued more. He should have actually  looked  at Harry in that meeting and seen he was gripping the chair, white knuckles and all. But he was thinking about himself, about his own stupid , selfish ass, and how having Eleanor around was going to make sneaking into  Haz ' hotel room every night just a tiny bit harder.

If Louis had been thinking at all about Harry, he would have seen that this meeting was really the beginning of his end.

Louis finishes the X Factor video diaries and turns off the TV.

He glances over at his phone. There are about a hundred texts on there, mostly from the other lads, making sure he's okay, making sure he hasn't, you know, gone off the deep end, or slit his wrists or anything else ridiculously dramatic. He hasn't. And he wouldn't. He never even seriously contemplated it, even in the worst of it, after Harry left.

Maybe because he always knew Harry would come back someday. And a world with Harry in it, that's a world that Louis will always want to be in .

There's a single text from an unknown number. Usually Lou just deletes these, because they're almost always from people who shouldn't have gotten his number and want something he doesn't feel like giving. But his finger hesitates on the delete button and  this time  he actually reads the text.

It's clearly from Harry.

"Hear you broke out the X Factor DVD. Hope it was good watching," it reads. Louis figures it was Niall, it has to be Niall who broke down and shared that little tidbit. Niall has always been utter shit at staying mad.

His fingers are actually trembling. He wants so badly to respond, to banter back and forth like old times, like the last five years didn't happen. He wants things to not change.

But the last two hours have proved that things have irrevocably changed. He's not that naïve eighteen year old boy anymore, just figuring out he fancies lads instead of girls. Harry's not sixteen and smiling up at him like he just hung the stars in the sky.

As much as he might want to believe otherwise, everythi ng is  different. Harry might be trying to grab a piece of their past and carry it with them, us ing it to try to make things right, but deep down Louis knows that nothing can  ever  make it right. Not the past, not the present, not  anything .

Louis deletes the text without replying and goes to bed alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two things:
> 
> I'm on twitter @beth_bolden if you want check me out there.
> 
> I'm kind of obsessed with the Snow Patrol song, "New York" and decided it's really the theme for this whole story, if you want to give it a listen. Really great song.

 

 

The next morning, there's an email in his inbox, listing the promo schedule and all the rehearsals for the tour. Looks like management has scheduled about a month of rehearsals. Louis thinks even that extended period of time might not be enough. It's been so long  since they've sung together, performed together. Louis is pretty certain t hey're going to be a fucking disaster.

There's also a finalized list of tour dates, and it's not nearly as long as Louis thought it might be. There's a handful in Europe, then about twenty dates in the US. The venues too aren't that big. These will be much more. . . intimate . . .Lou thinks . Definitely more Up All Night versus Where We Are. He's not sure if he's happy or sad about this, but he wonders if the size of the venues is more in line with what management thinks they can actually sell out.

One Direction has been broken up for five years. New boy bands have come and taken their place and moved on as well. They still have their hardcore fans, of course, but even they seemed to become vaguely over it . He can see, from the details and the stage planning, they are going for a very nostalgic feel with the production design , prob ably trying to capture the casual fan who wants to relive their fading youth.

It hurts so much to revisit the past, Louis was hoping they would stay more permanently focused on the future, on turning a new page for the band, even though he has zero intention of ever doing this again. No new album, no more tours, no interviews. Nothing. But  he still hates the idea of spending the next four months of his life living in the past.

Rehearsals don't start for three more days, but Louis glances at the schedule and groans when he sees himself penciled in to see Lou Teasdale this morning for a haircut and then for an interview tomorrow. And even worse, there's a two hour meeting  before  the interview, which means coaching on what they will all say.

Of course there's going to be coaching, he thinks, management doesn't want him to slip up now, after so many years of successfully (or maybe not so successfully) hiding the truth. Or for any of the lads to say just how much they hate Harry now.

He takes a shower and doesn't bother styling his hair, which admittedly is kind of a wreck these days. He tries to get in to see Lou, but more often than not, he doesn't bother because nobody, including himself, gives a shit what he looks like anymore. But he  does  shave, mostly because he knows his mustache beard combination  is ragged as hell.

When he glances up in the bathroom mirror while brushing his teeth he's kind of amazed at how rough he really looks. Clearly, nobody was going to let him go on camera looking like a slob. He'd almost be grateful. . .but he isn't. The idea that they're still teenage heartthrobs dressing to impress is so ludicrous that he hopes  management doesn't try it. But deep down, he knows better. It might be five years later, but nothing has really changed.

When he knocks on Lou's door, and she opens it, she gives him an astonished look and a squeak. Louis is almost offended. He didn't think he looked  that  bad.

"Going for the mountain man look, eh?" she asks fondly, ushering him into the kitchen.

He shrugs. And suddenly, though the word Harry has not even come up yet--how could it possibly, he's been there for less than thirty seconds--it's all he can think about. If Lou has seen Harry. If Lou's cut Harry's hair, which admittedly, from what Louis remembers at the meeting, looked better than his own. Maybe he went to see her first, before Zayn even.

"Louis," she says, turning to him, and suddenly her thin arms are around him and he's having to choke back sudden tears, because the way she sounds is so much the way he feels all the damn time now. "Are you okay?" she asks softly, into his jean jacket.

He can't even say anything. He's not okay, he's really, really not. But saying it out loud makes it all worse.

She pulls back and brackets her hands around his face. "I can't even think what you're feeling right now. God , how was it when you saw him?"

"Hard," he chokes out and suddenly, horrifically, he's sobbing into her shoulder. There's just so much pain and anger and hate and fuck it,  love, that it just overwhelms him and he can't keep it inside anymore. He thought over the last week or two that he'd become numb to the whole charade, that he could look Harry in the eye and feel nothing, but the truth is, Louis feels  everything.

And facing someone like Lou, who was there from the very beginning, who saw him fall in love with Harry, who saw their relationship from the very beginning and knew the truth behind the façade, is just too much.

He can feel her crying too, and it actually feels good to let out all the ugliness that's been rotting inside him for so long. When he finally pulls away, he knows his eyes are wet and red and his nose is all snotty, but even though he knows he should be embarrassed about that little display, he's not. Lou clearly isn't embarrassed either, though she gives him a wry little grin as she hands over the  kleenex after taking a handful  for  herself.

"I saw him, you know," Lou says softly after she blows her nose.

He figured that she must have. Harry's hair looked too good after five years of god knew where he'd been. 

"He's different now," Lou continues, glancing at Louis carefully. "More like the old Harry, than the newer-old Harry."

"I wasn't sure if it was the alcohol that made him so . .  .not  Harry," Louis finally admits with a sigh. "I didn't know what to think, at the end."

And it's amazing, after that good cry, he can actually talk about it without feeling like his heart is being squeezed until it  might explode.

Lou leads him into the little room she's set up as her home salon. She washes his hair gently, as if she's afraid  she might bruise him if she touches him too hard. He doesn't look in the mirror as she  toys with the wet strands, even though she consults him as she always has. Before, Harry would have sat with them, offering up his own suggestions, which usually were "keep it as long as you can, please, love."

So when Lou asks him how much he wants off, Louis finally looks up in the mirror and decides he's just  done.

"Short," he says and it's definitely a surprise to Lou because she just gapes at him.

"Short?" she asks, clearly dumbfounded. "Like. . .how short? Not Liam breakdown short? "

He waves his hands vaguely around his head. "I  dunno. Like 2011 short. Up All Night tour short."

It's pathetic that he refers to sections of his life by tour names, but that's what his life  was  then. Tours and music and Harry.

Lou eyes him in the mirror, and he can tell she's mentally trimming all the raggedness away and suddenly she smiles.

"Yes. Yes. You're going to look proper handsome again," she says, her smile growing wider.

"Not what I'm trying to do," Louis stutters, because no matter how many times Harry told him how beautiful he was, he's always kind of felt like the runt of the five of them. It's kind of hard when his boyfriend is like so fucking  fit an entire generation of girls and  boys and whoever else  would have given  just about  anything to even get close enough to touch.

Okay, his  ex-boyfriend.

Whoops.

"I mean," Lou prattles on, completely unaware of the thoughts churning in Louis' head, "you looked good then, in this. But you've grown into your face now. It'll look amazing now."

"Good is fine," Louis grinds out. He's almost wishing he stood Lou up today. The last thing he wants Harry to think is that he went and got his hair cut and shaved for him. He did  not. He could care less if Harry is attracted to him anymore.

But then, he knows Harry. He's stubborn and clingy to his ways. And Louis thinks, the sex was definitely not why Harry disappeared in Detroit.

If Louis is being terribly, horribly honest, he's still got it bad for  his Haz. But then, that makes sense. Harry was the boy who unlocked the truth inside him, and for the four years they were together, Harry was the only boy he  could even see.

Even when there was something sick and twisted and wrong inside Harry, it was the world's biggest cosmic joke that Louis still craved him, still wanted him more than anyone else he's ever met.

"All done," Lou announces with a flourish, tilting his chin up with a gentle touch, and he stares in the mirror at the man in the reflection.

It's a man's updated version of his old hairstyle, a little  mussier , a little edgier, but it  fits  his face. He's no longer overwhelmed by his hair. And god, those are  his  cheekbones? And  his  eyes?

Maybe for the first time in five years, Louis really looks and is actually  happy  about what he sees when he looks at himself. And okay, maybe he's a little cruelly pleased that Harry will take one look at him, and if he hasn't changed either, will want the same thing Louis does every time he sees that ridiculous curly mop of his.

It's a little bit like fighting fire with fire, and Louis refuses to even contemplate what could happen between them if they take even one step down that road, but it's also perversely satisfying. Like for the first time since Zayn showed up at his door, Louis has the upper hand.

He grins at himself and glances up at Lou. "Thank you," he says as heartfelt as he feels. Harry was the one who disappeared and he's supposedly been here the whole damn time,  but right now, Louis feels like he's got some of the old  Tommo sass and swagger back and damn, it feels good.

Lou's phone dings, and she gives him an apologetic glance. "Sorry, love, got to answer this. Could be Lux's school."

She turns away to answer, and he sees the minute things are not okay. Her back tenses, and her hand gestures magnify.

A minute and a few hushed comments later, she hangs up, but she doesn't immediately turn back to him, and Louis knows it's something to do with the band.

Probably  it's  something to do with Harry.

"It's Harry, isn't it?" Louis asks quietly.

Lou whirls around and there's an apology bright and sad in her eyes. "He's been spotted, yeah. A fan got a pic of him, and well, it's all over. Mass hysteria, it seems."

Louis vaguely remembers from the meeting that there was some discussion about how Harry's being back in town wasn't supposed to become public knowledge before management could release a statement and they could do their first big interview back. Modest is not going to be very happy, Louis thinks, but then they can go fuck themselves. Never  once  did they care about his happiness or Harry's happiness. It was up to them to fight for their own, and while Louis knows he did a shitty job of it back then, he shouldn't have had to do it at all.

Okay, so he's a little bitter.

"And?"

"There's about a hundred  paps outside your house."

"Well, fuck," Louis says, scrubbing a hand over his face, forgetting that he's shaved and his hair doesn't resemble a lion's mane for the first time in five-ish years.

"I can probably sneak in the back," Louis suggests. "Is your house. . ."

Lou shakes her head. "And there's no reason to imagine they'd come here. It's not like Harry's been keeping in touch with me either."

"Right," Louis says steadily. God he forgot how much he hates this fucking part.

"You can always stay here, Louis," she says.

"No, no. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the offer, but I've got to get home. I . . ." Louis hesitates. He doesn’t know if he should tell her he's been watching their past. It feels too private to share with anyone other than the other four. Okay, the other  three, even if Niall can't keep a fucking secret.

"I can't hide. Hiding has never worked." He tries for a laugh, but it comes out still so bitter. The truth is, hiding has  always  worked.

"Louis," Lou says so hesitantly as he gets up from the chair and gathers his jacket from the hook in the corner. "Louis, do you think. . .do you think the truth might come out this time? Are you ready for that?"

He's thought about it, yeah. It'd be hard not to. And frankly, in the last five years, if someone had asked him, he'd have been honest, but once One Direction broke up, there wasn't much interest in Louis Tomlinson anymore. He's always known he was better when he was part of those guys, and the aftermath of their breakup proves it.

Nobody cared if he was gay, or even cared to ask. There's been a little interest in the other guys, mainly because they stayed in the spotlight, still making music, like Zayn and  Perrie, or charity work, like Liam and Niall. But Louis dropped out of the public eye completely. He's been just as lost as Harry.

Louis just shrugs in response to Lou's question. He's not ashamed of his sexuality; other than the first few months when he worried what it might mean for the band, he's been happy to be honest. But he also doesn't feel like it's a matter for public consumption.  Harry used to believe they had a responsibility to set an example for the world, bravery and acceptance and some such crap, but Louis has always been perfectly happy being who he is,  privately.

"If someone asks, I'm not going to deny it, Lou," he huffs. "I'm twenty seven. And if Modest tries to stop me, well, fuck them."

"Harry," Lou twists her hands together, "Harry mentioned something while he was here. About not hiding anymore. I figured he didn't mention it to you and I thought you should know."

If Harry comes out as gay as part of this reunion tour, Louis knows he will inevitably get dragged into it. Larry  Stylinson will be resurrected from the dead,  again, and there will be even more questions when the truth is revealed. But like Harry, Louis is sick of lying and half-truths and charades. If it comes up, it comes up.

"I've got nothing to hide," he insists. "I'm sure it'll be a cluster when it comes out, but whatever. Everyone already knew, anyway."

Lou's look is fond as she regards him. "Could never hide your feelings to save your lives." She leans over and ruffles his new haircut. "Good luck sneaking in the back."

He's in the car when he realizes he should have checked his own phone. No doubt he's got about a million calls and texts and messages because now that Harry's back, everyone is suddenly going to be interested in Louis Tomlinson again.

He turns it on and the poor thing practically goes into meltdown, trying to tell him everything he's missed in the forty five minutes he was at Lou's.

Not surprisingly, the largest number of missed calls come from the other lads (Harry excluded, of course), and management.

He listens to Liam's voicemail first, mostly because he can depend on Liam to keep a level head when everyone else is losing their minds.

"Hey,  Tommo , it's Liam. You should know. . .Harry was spotted in a Tesco today, by a fan, and then they tweeted it, with a picture, and well, if you go home, you'll understand why I'm calling you. Apparently we're hot news again. I'm stuck at my house, Niall's stuck at his, and Zayn, well Zayn was out for a walk with  Perrie and the baby." 

 

Louis pauses the voicemail at this point and hits his head hard against the steering wheel. Daddy Zayn is insanely protective and he can only imagine what Liam is going to say next. It's not going to be pretty. 

 

"And well, it wasn't pretty. I don't think they actually arrested him, but Zayn destroyed a few cameras."

Louis takes a deep breath and keeps listening.

"Niall and I were talking and we think it might be a good idea for the five of us to meet up later tonight, to get on the same page before we talk to management tomorrow and do the interview. We were so young back then, we didn't even know what we were doing or saying, but  we're not boys anymore. We don't want to be pushed around. But we should know what we want so we can be quite clear about how this is going to go this time around."

Louis cracks a smile. Liam won't ever change. It's very reassuring, like the sun rising in the morning and setting at night.

"So I know you are going to hate this idea, but we all voted. It's at your house."

Liam is right; Louis  hates  this idea. He has no intention, absolutely zero intention, of ever letting Harry back into the house they once shared. He thinks of the boxes Zayn and Liam packed up that one horrible day and hopes that whatever storage unit they were stored in, Harry got the key, because that's all he's ever getting out of the house.

"Don't argue. Just . . .it feels right. See you about eight."

Louis drops his head against the steering wheel again, and hates, hates, hates Liam. Stupid, logical Liam.

There are about a hundred texts from Niall, with even more exclamation points trailing them, mostly about  paps and Zayn and how he went total Batman and in spite of the panic welling inside him, Louis giggles a little at these.

Zayn hasn't actually called or texted, but there are several reassuring texts from  Perrie. Everyone is fine, she says, we're resting at home. Zayn is fine, she repeats again, almost as if she's reassuring herself.

And of course, there's that unknown number again--the number Louis knows has to be Harry's--and this time there's a missed call and a voicemail. Even though he doesn't want to, he still hits speakerphone and plays the message.

Harry's voice is deep and uncertain in the quiet of his car.

"Hey, Lou, I heard what happened today. I'm . . .I'm really sorry. I feel awful about Zayn and  Perrie . And I hear they're camping around your house too, and Li's and Niall's. I honestly didn't think anyone cared anymore, really." Harry huffs out a breath, and Louis knows him so well, even still, he can see the exasperation in his eyes as he says this. "Anyway, I'm sorry, I did try to wear a hood and everything. I should have known better. See you tonight."

He doesn't say a word about coming to the house they used to share, that was essentially their home, even if it was technically  in Louis' name. They picked out furniture together, painted walls, planted a garden with herbs for Harry, and spent hours, days, holed away there, the one haven they had where they could truly be themselves.

It's taken five years for Louis to erase every bit of Harry from the place. And now he's going to waltz back in and resurrect it all. Louis is not happy at all, but at the same time, the thought of having Harry back there again, leaning against their kitchen counter again, wry, teasing smile on his face, is a temptation too great to resist.

In the end, Louis doesn't call Liam back and force him to move the meeting to someone else's house.

He just texts Li back. Short and simple.

"Okay."

  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should apologize for this chapter in advance. It's both super long and kind of ridiculously self-indulgent. I don't really know what songs the boys like the best (besides the obvious ones they've said) so I just kind of inserted myself in. Plus picked some that I think would make for some good moments later on in the story.
> 
> Also yeah, super long. I'm apparently insanely wordy.

 

Louis parks  about three blocks away from his house, and switches his jean jacket for a leftover hoody he'd had stashed in the backseat of his car, zipping it up and pulling up the hood over his eyes. It's definitely not very subtle, considering it's July, but he can't exactly walk down the street as himself anymore.

He keeps his head down, not even looking up as he skirts around the block behind his house, dodging through someone's garden and to his back fence. Resting a hand on the edge, he vaults over it and is safely in his own backyard.

It's a path that both Louis and Harry have taken many, many times when  paparazzi often surrounded the house, and Louis knows it like the back of his hand, still.

He finds the hide-a-key in one of the planters that Harry b ought so long ago, but while it once held bright flowers,  now it's full of  dirt and weeds. Really, Louis thinks, glancing out at the garden and taking in how shitty it  looks now, weeds and brush everywhere, it could all use some work. He's kept the lawn mowed, mostly so he can still kick a ball around sometimes, but that's about it.  The yard really needs some tender loving care with someone who doesn't have a black thumb. Someone  the opposite of himself.

He'll have to ring someone and have them come take care of it, maybe while he's  on tour.

Unlocking the back door, Louis drops  the hide-a-key back where he'd found it and surveys his house as he walks into the living room. Tries to look at it as the others might.

Okay, as  Harry  might.

Frankly Louis has never been very domestic. He's even worse at keeping the inside neat and tidy than he is at the yard. There's clutter and dust everywhere, empty cereal bowls probably growing mold on the coffee table in front of the TV. Louis tends to clean up only when he's out of bowls for his cornflakes and he realizes the house is a bloody fucking mess.

It's a bloody fucking mess today, and Louis hates the pulse of shame he feels at the thought Harry might see this. He's not going to see it, Lou decides in a split second. He's got a few hours before everyone will show up and that's plenty of time to tidy up a bit.

Because he's clearly masochistic, he even goes back into the room with all the memories and roots around in another box for a few minutes until he finds what he's looking for.

A  copy of their last CD,  Midnight Memories.

Before Louis can second guess his own decision, he bends down in front of his stereo and inserts the CD in.

He remembers when they made this album and how fucking  happy  they were, how thrilled he was that he'd written so much of it. How they really felt their sound was evolving and changing and that maybe in a few albums, they'd actually be taken fucking seriously by people who knew something about music.

There are still one or two cheesy ballads, but as Louis cleans and listens, letting himself scoot around the house, booty shaking just a bit to the rhythm, he's pretty proud of how well the songs stand up over time.

He's doing the dishes when the song comes on.

He knows the opening chords like he knows his own name and his hands go numb and a bowl slips from them and shatters against the hard porcelain of the sink.

He only narrowly avoids slicing his hands open because he jerks at the last possible second as shards of the bowl go everywhere.

His very first instinct is to run into the living room and turn the music off. He can't listen to this song, he just  can't. It's only then he remembers their songs are nestled together, like he and Harry once were, and  that the next track on the album will be even worse.

But Louis knows he will have to hear both these songs again--many, many times in the next few months, actually, and it's better to get used to them now, while he's alone and nobody can see how  they tear him apart.

Objectively, he tries to listen to the music, to the lyrics, to his own creation, and judge it without any of the personal feelings that inspired it. It's a  good  song, he knows. He remembers how Jamie loved it, was so fucking proud that he'd written something so good, so heartfelt.

And Harry . . .Harry. Louis grips the edges of the counter and bows his head at that particular recollection. He'd cried the first time, and hadn't even believed that the song could be about him, but Louis had laughed through his own  tears and had teased that he must have written it about his  other  boyfriend.

It's almost harder to remember the happier times, the moments when he'd glance over so fondly at Harry and think to himself that he couldn't quite believe this was  his  life. It wasn't all sunshine and roses, things were  hard  sometimes, they went through rough periods. As far as Louis was concerned that was normal. Every couple did that. But they had stayed so strong even through those, as if the adversity they'd suffered through made them even more indestructible.

Strong.  Strong. Louis laughs but he doesn't really think it's all that funny, really. More sad and pathetic than anything else. 

He'd been so, so wrong.

The adversity hadn't made them stronger; the adversity had broken Harry and  Louis hadn't even fucking noticed. Louis had just kept expecting that Harry would snap out of his funk, and they'd go back to where they'd always been, like some kind of magic rubber band that could never break.

He'd only discovered too late that the rubber band wasn't magic at all; any magic they'd possessed was in the miracle that was Harry's sweet soul. But then his soul turned sour and by the time Louis realized nothing was ever going to be right again, it was too late.

It was too late, and Harry was missing from his hotel room in Detroit and there was only a single note to prove he'd ever been there at all.

"I'm sorry," it  had  said, "but I can't do it anymore."

Louis let s out a half sob, half laugh and tries to brace himself for the torture porn that's to come in the next track.

He hadn't even known Harry was writing a song. Of course, Harry was always carrying around that stupid journal, the one he'd scribbled "One and Only" on. The stupid journal that had sent legions of  fangirls into spasms of supposition, but Louis had known exactly who Harry had written that about and had only pulled him in tight, loving him and  fearing for him in equal measures.

He'd seen, of course, how much Harry had begun to chafe under management's increasingly strict rules, and even though it had always Louis been the one pushing the envelope before, Harry had begun to act out in increasingly obvious ways. The tattoos, the song lyrics posted on his  instagram, the openly flaunting of the journal.  It all said Harry was in a serious relationship. 

And since Harry hadn't even really been seen with a girl since Taylor and pretty much  nobody  took that seriously, it was a tantalizing mystery that Louis knew management would do their very best to squash.

Louis had been so scared that instead of the mystery, they'd try to squash Harry instead. Be more careful, he'd begged Harry so many times. Don't sing to me on stage. Don’t look at me like that. If he'd even known about the song, he might have even said,  and please god,  don't write songs about me either.

He'd been too fucking worried about management. Louis feels a horrible pulse of guilt now, at how he hadn't even defended his own fucking boyfriend. It's  amazing to look back now and see how  much  power fear held over their lives. Was it any wonder that Harry had finally snapped?

But even back then, Louis  couldn't have been able to listen to Harry's song and feel even the slightest bit of regret that he'd written it. It was so beautiful, so open and free and happy, and so  Harry.

He'd loved singing it back then, as if his mouth singing the words Harry had written brought them closer together when the world thought they couldn't be further apart.

Listening to the song now, Louis wonders if this wasn't Harry's cry for  more.  If maybe Louis had just had his stupid ears open, all this pain and horror could have been avoided.

It's a nice thought, Louis supposes, but it still fucking hurts. And really there is no point in regret.

The pain and horror weren't avoided; they fucking trudged right through them. There's no turning back now, nothing to be gained by wishing the past hadn't happened. It did happen, and he can't pretend it didn't.

Louis cleans up the sink and carefully sweeps for any extra bowl fragments. He finishes washing the dishes and opens the fridge,  debates trying to duck out  for snacks.

Then he remembers the paparazzi and texts Liam instead, giving him specific instructions of what to pick up at the corner market  before he comes over. After all, this whole meeting is Li's idea, and even though Louis doesn’t disagree with it on principal, he's still mad they're meeting here .

He finishes tidying up, and when he stands back to admire his work, tries again to picture the house from Harry's point of view. Will he remember when they painted the feature wall? Will he remember they got more paint on themselves and the drop cloth than the wall? Will he remember picking out the tile in the kitchen? Will he remember the first time he cooked Louis a proper meal in the remodeled kitchen, and that Louis fucked him against the counter afterwards, desperate and desperately in love?

Louis decides it doesn't much matter, because he remembers. He can't forget.

Back when he first really, truly acknowledged that Harry wasn't ever going to come back to his life, about two years after Detroit, Louis seriously considered selling the house and moving somewhere new. Some place that wasn't coated in memories that he couldn't get rid of as easily as changing couches and pictures on the walls.

In the end, though, Louis stayed. The memories are old friends, the ghost scars of poorly healed wounds. He's familiar and comfortable with them. He's learned to live with them and doesn’t know what he'd be like if suddenly deprived of their existence.

There's a knock on the door that jerks him out of his reverie, and Louis turns to the front door before realizing that it hasn't come from the front; it's from the  back .

The other lads don't know about his back route, only Harry knows about it.

That knowledge is enough to have Louis fumbling with the stereo and turning off the music before he heads to the back door. Harry doesn't have to know that he's trying to re-acclimate himself with the past. He doesn't have to know that Louis is affected at all, though he'd have to be a lot blinder to not see it.

I mean, Louis fucking had a panic attack the first time he saw him and Harry  has never been stupid. Especially not when it comes to Louis.

He takes a deep breath before opening the door, but when he does, it's all four of them, standing there, and Harry's got that crooked smile on his face, the stupid one, the one that shows all his dimples.

No grown man of twenty five should have dimples, Louis decides. That’s a new law of nature. A Louis Law.

"This is awfully cozy," he says, leaning against the doorframe and staring at the four of them. Liam at least has the grace to look a trifle ashamed. Zayn's looking at the ground, and Louis can see the traces of how hard the day has been  in the way his shoulders slump. Niall has the nerve to actually look excited.

And Harry. Well, Harry is looking at everything, his wide eyes taking in the yard and the weeds in the pots and between the stone tiles that make up the patio and is he fucking looking at him reproachfully?

Louis looks away because if he is, well, he really can't deal with that right now.

He refuses to feel ashamed because he let the yard go to shit.

"Can we come in?" Zayn asks with a small, quiet sigh, and if he hadn't attacked some photographers today, and kind of defended the honor of  Perrie and their baby, Louis almost would consider turning the entire shabby lot away.

"We got the supplies," Niall crows, holding up a paper bag, as Louis pulls the door wide and steps aside so they can all troop inside.

They gather in the kitchen, and Louis refuses to even glance over at Harry, but he can still  feel  him, as he absorbs the changes in the house. And maybe Louis is crazy (okay, crazier than usual) but  he  knows, deep down, that Harry  does  remember and that he's simply, quietly cataloging each change and trying to decide what they all mean.

Louis heads to the fridge and plucks a beer from the shelf, and glances back out, asking, "beer anyone?"

For a split second, everyone's expression is totally normal. There's three nods, and then Louis glances over at Harry, and it's like he's frozen in time.

And then Louis remembers. He stupidly, horrifically remembers. Harry's an alcoholic. Harry doesn't drink anymore because before, at the very end, when Harry drank, it was to not just pass out, it was to black out, and forget everything. It was to find the bottom of a bottle as fast as he fucking could.

"Uh," Louis stalls, hand gripping around the neck of the cold bottle he's holding.

The silence in the kitchen is deafening and growing more and more awkward by the second. Louis frantically is searching his mind for something to say, but all he can come up with are horrible, terrible memories of the last time they staged an intervention for Harry. Right before Detroit.

It's Harry who finally speaks. "It's okay," he says in such a small voice that Louis can't believe he's not still sixteen year old Harry. He sounds just like he used to. Like the first time Louis watched a woman try to seriously hit on Harry and he was befuddled and confused and didn't know how to politely turn her down.

Back then, Lou had just teased Harry, telling him to tell the next one that he's gay, that'll make sure there's no confusion.

But this time, Louis doesn't think he can joke about this. Which is pretty astonishing, given his ability to make jokes out of just about anything else, appropriate or not.

"It's not okay," Liam says firmly, shooting Louis a look that distinctly says, "if you drink a beer in front of Harry  ever again  I will personally kill you and rope Zayn into disposing of the body with me."

"Really," Harry protests, but it's Harry's weak kitten voice. "If I can't watch you guys drink a beer without me, then I'm pretty screwed, aren't I?"

Niall, of course, voices the one question that nobody has had the nerve to ask yet.

"How long have you even been sober?" he asks, and there's only open curiosity in the question, no judgment. Mostly because this is Niall and Louis doesn't think he's ever judged anyone,  ever.

"Two years," Harry says, and this time he's proud and almost defiant. "Twenty six months, actually."

Louis returns the beer to its original spot, and pulls out five bottles of water instead, distributing them around the kitchen island. Twenty six months is a lot longer than he thought Harry would say, but there's no way, absolutely no way they can completely shelter him from alcohol. He's going to have to be stronger than the temptation, if it ever comes up. He wasn't  before, but in this new-old Harry, Louis has caught a few glimpses of a strong backbone. A steel backbone.

And even though he's still fucking furious, Louis finds himself hoping that this new-old Harry will find a way to be strong.

"This is a good time to go over what needs discussing," Liam says, all business, pulling his phone and flipping to his notes.

"Daddy Direction," Louis teases and Liam casually flips him off. Louis lets it go because he's proud, really, of how much looser Liam is today than he was nine years ago. Out of all of them, Liam's definitely the one that's improved the most by being around the rest of the lads. He'd have stayed in that awful fucking shell, otherwise--Louis is certain of it.

"Going on," Liam says firmly. "I just want to point out that the response to Harry being spotted today is amazing. The support on twitter and social media is crazy and leads me to believe that we've got a lot more bargaining chips with management than they thought we might."

Everyone nods. Nobody expected armies of paparazzi to descend upon them today. Nobody expected most people to even  care.

"First order of business. Tour rider." Liam glances over at Louis. "Do you have paper and a pen or something?"

"I've got something better,  Mr. Nineteenth Century. " Louis retorts. " A pen,  jesus." He goes into the living room and comes back with his laptop, which he sets on the counter for Liam.

"Much better," Liam says, opening Word and beginning to type. "So, let's have your requests. What kind of hotel rooms do you want? Who's going to be coming with you?"

"Perrie and Charlotte are coming," Zayn speaks up for the first time, and Louis barely refrains from rolling his eyes. It's not that he really blames Zayn, the man has a gorgeous family, but he's also like literally the most protective father on the planet.

"Perrie can take the time off?" Liam asks and Zayn just nods.

"Niall?" Liam says. "What about you?"

"Uh, Amy probably. But only weekends. When she can get away from work."

Liam types away.  "Same with Sophia. But I think we should keep our options open. So I'll put down a request that we each need a suite. Separate suites, rather. We're not children anymore, we shouldn’t have to share a room."

"I'll need two. Or a suite, I guess, and another room."

Everyone turns to look at Harry.

He blushes. "A friend of mine is coming on the tour." Louis hates the sudden pulse of jealousy, then he realizes that Harry said separate rooms. This isn't a lover of Harry's. Harry would never let himself be separated from someone he even remotely liked.

"Your lawyer?" Louis snipes and immediately regrets it because the expression in  Haz's eyes is so, so sad. Devastated, really.

"Not my lawyer," he answers back steadily, though. "A friend."

"Fine," Liam says, waving his hand. "And I'm not even going to ask Louis."

"I could have someone," Louis whines petulantly and then freezes, so much the same as Harry with the beer earlier, he realizes. As if he's been caught thinking of something that isn't right. As if he could even dream of someone else, after what he shared with Harry.

Liam rolls his eyes and doesn't even have to say it. They all know Louis' love life began and ended with Harry and it's not going to be changing any time soon.

"Moving on," Liam  continues and they go over food requests and equipment requests. Louis toys with his water bottle and tries not to look at Harry. Harry doesn't have anything to add to the conversation until they're almost ready to move on. Or rather, Niall is about to move on from  the incredibly detailed list of  snacks he wants to have access to 24/7.

"Can I please. . ." Harry hesitates, "can there be no alcoholic beverages in the green room, please?"

Liam shoots Louis another look, like Louis would even dare to make fun of this request. He wouldn't. Not in a million years. He's never going to forgive Harry for leaving like he did and staying away for so long, but he  is  proud that Harry's sober and kept it up. It's a feat certainly worthy of Louis' respect.

"Of course,  Hazza," Liam says with a smile. "I'll see what we can do about not just limiting it to the green room."

Harry wrings his hands a little, shame blooming on his face. "I don't want you guys to think I can't control myself, because I can. I wouldn't be back here otherwise. It's just . . .harder." And Harry's face twists then,  and for the very time, for a split second, there's so much pain and agony there.  Louis has to remind himself to breathe.

Finally, Liam decides they're done with the tour rider. "Onto the set list," he announces, and whips a piece of paper out of his pocket. It's the set list from their last tour, Louis realizes as he glances at it. He doesn't know where Liam got a copy, but it's pristine and perfect, barely even folded. Maybe Liam saves every email he's ever received. It's definitely possible.

"What does everyone think?" Liam asks as they all crowd around the paper.

For a single heart-wrenching moment, Louis swears he can feel Harry hovering over him, can smell his skin on the air, can feel the warmth of him against his back, but then it's gone and he sees Harry edging around next to Zayn.

Louis is both relieved that he's not going to have to discuss that their personal spaces aren't shared anymore and disappointed because  damnit, he's missed being tangled in Harry all the time.

"Lou, focus," Liam barks and Louis glances up to see the rest of the group staring at him.

"What?" he asks.

"Niall said he doesn't want to pick songs just because they were singles. Or popular, or whatever. He wants to do the songs we like the best."

"Oh yeah. That. That sounds good." Louis is aware he's babbling like an idiot, but Harry's grinning over at him, and there are Harry dimples and okay, he's just distracted.

How did they ever get anything done before? Louis has forgotten.

"Okay, so first album," Liam says, and he does something magical on Louis' computer and brings up the track list from the album. "What do we all think?"

"'Stand Up' is a really fun song," Niall says. "I've always liked that one."

"And 'Tell Me a Lie,'" Zayn says, speaking up for the first time.

"Can um," Harry says, and everyone glances over at him and he just kind of freezes. "Um. Maybe in rehearsals, we could divide up some of these more fairly?"

"What, you don't want you and Liam to sing all of them?" Niall interjects, but his voice and expression are so fond.

"No. I don't," Harry replies firmly. "We didn't have options back then, but we have options now."

"I'm okay with that," Louis says, trying to play it cool but inside he's doing like cartwheels and jumping jacks and ridiculous jazz hands because it's always kind of stung a little that he sang so fucking little on that first album. He knows he was an important part of the group, but there were points in that four years they were together that he knew management didn't consider them all equal.

"We're going to have to relearn them anyway," Liam points out.

"'I Wish,'" Louis says, surprising even himself when he speaks up. He remembers how much that song resonated with him, that first year with Harry, when he spent about three quarters of his time in an absolute love haze.

"Good choice," Zayn says with a smile and a nudge at Louis.

"'Stole My Heart,'" Niall yells. "I  wanna dance again on stage. Not this ridiculous rock star shit."

"Only if Louis can sing the chorus," Harry says, and he sounds so serious that Louis just  gapes at him. Sometimes he'd sing that to Harry at night, in bed, when they'd be cuddled around each other, and Harry would insist that it was one of his favorite things.

And every time Louis would be thinking of that first time in the loo, and Harry literally pulling his heart right out of his chest.

"I've never heard Lou sing the chorus," Liam points out, and then he goes really still, as if he realizes then the one circumstance Louis would be singing the chorus instead of Harry.

"I can sing it," Louis says, surprising himself again. He shouldn't be pandering to Harry this way. He really, really shouldn't. But that's one of his good memories, and honestly, he's kind of flattered that Harry remembers. If the whole concert was that one chorus, he could probably manage it.

"I don't suppose we  can get away with skipping 'One Thing' or 'What Makes You Beautiful,'" Niall says mournfully.

"I don't think we should do anything we don't want to do," Liam says, and Louis is proud. Five years ago, before Harry left, Liam couldn't toe the line fast enough or long enough. There's more than a few instances where Louis was so deeply, fucking pissed at Liam. But now Lou knows that it wasn't Liam's fault that fucking management made him their mouthpiece because he was such an earnest good boy, honesty practically radiating out of  every pore. But then Harry left, and to Lou's surprise, it's been Liam most of all, in their corner.

"We really have to do 'What Makes You Beautiful,'" Zayn points out and he sounds just as dismayed by this as Niall and yeah, Louis is on board with that. It's been five years since he's sung that song, but it still hasn't been long enough.

"Maybe we should change it up a little? Play with a remix or something," Zayn wonders out loud.

"I've got some ideas on that," Niall says, and Liam dutifully types those notes in.

"Second album," Liam announces.

Everyone says it at the same time. "'They Don't Know About Us.'"

Louis gets why they had to stop singing it. It was beyond obvious that the song was about him and Harry and management was trying to hide stuff that the song made ridiculously plain. But he's fucking proud of that song, and of how happy he was when he wrote it with Harry. He refuses to be ashamed of it or his feelings any longer.

"Loud and clear there," Liam laughs. "What about  ' Loved You First,' eh Lou?"

Louis glares at him, but he doesn't put much heat behind it. "Hey, I actually  did  like that song," he points out, but he studiously avoids looking anywhere near Harry.

"'Little Things,'" Harry says softly, and Louis doesn't need to even look in Harry's direction to know his eyes are on him. Louis swallows hard, and grips his water. That song has way, way too many personal memories caught up in it and Harry has to know that. It may have been years since they were together, but they both know that isn't just a song anymore. Kind of the way  'They Don't Know About Us,' 'Strong,' 'Happily,' and  'Something Great,' were never just songs.

Liam adds that he likes  'Nobody Compares,' and Louis is okay with that one. He's got a good solo in that one.  Nevermind that he always thought of Harry and the Valentine's Day they spent in Paris. He can sing that one. Maybe.

Niall requests  'She's Not Afraid,' which Lou thinks is another great choice. Upbeat. No personal connection. That's good. He's good with that.

They finally move onto the third album and all the minefields in it.

Deciding on  'Best Song Ever' is easy enough. They all liked that one.  'Better than Words' and  'Little Black Dress' are also shoe-ins. And then it gets really, really quiet as everyone is thinking about the two songs that Louis is pretty certain will finally  finish off what's left of him.

Nobody is talking. Niall is humming, maybe a remix of  'What Makes You Beautiful.' Zayn is fascinated by the marble countertop. Liam's eyes are glued to the laptop like it holds the secret to world peace. Louis is fine looking anywhere but  near Harry.

Harry finally lets out a huge sigh. "Can I talk to you, Lou?" he asks. "Alone?"

Louis really doesn't want to have another of these private conversations. They never had to have them before. In fact, the other lads probably wished more than once that they'd kept a few more things private. Besides, he has a good idea what Harry wants to say to him, and he's just not ready to hear it. Pretty much ever.

"No. Whatever you want to say to me, you can say in front of the other guys," he says, looking up at Harry with what he hopes is a hard look. A resolute look.

Harry fidgets uncomfortably with the lid to his water. "I know you hate me, Lou," he's speaking so softly he's nearly whispering, and they'd all have to be a lot deafer to miss the emotion and the love in his voice, "but I'm not ashamed of the songs we wrote. I want to sing them still. They were the best part of that tour. And. . ." Harry's voice catches and Louis actually looks up at him, and is floored to see tears in his eyes. "And 'Strong' maybe got me through the last five years. So I want to sing it. And I meant every word of the songs I wrote for you. I want to sing them too. But I would understand if you don’t want to hear them ever again."

Louis is gripping the edge of the counter so hard he's kind of surprised it hasn't cracked under the pressure, even if it's marble. And suddenly he wishes he'd granted Harry that private audience. There's too much love and hurt and pain brimming in Harry's eyes now, and he knows if the others look at him, they'll see the same in his.

The truth is, he  doesn't  want to ever hear Harry's declarations of undying love and devotion repeated every night, as if they're still valid and true. He doesn't want to hear his own repeated back at him, like a fucking mockery of all he had and then lost.

Louis is overwhelmed and confused and he doesn't know what to say, which is awkward because he knows everyone is staring at him, especially Harry, waiting for his answer.

"I don't know," he finally gets out. "I don't fucking know."

Out of the corner of his eye, Louis sees Harry try to surreptitiously wipe away a tear and the pain in his face just fucking guts him, but Louis can't deal with  that right now because his own pain is so awful.

"I know it's not our decision to make," Liam says slowly, "but 'Strong' and 'Happily' were two of the best songs we ever did. They were heartfelt and true and amazing."

Zayn nods now. "I know it's hard. It was never going to be easy, Lou, but I'm with Harry. There's no shame in those songs."

Louis is staring at them with increasing disbelief. They clearly do not understand. No, there's no shame. He's not ashamed of the songs. He's angry at the songs. He thinks they're fucking lies. And he's not going to stand up in front of thousands of people and re-validate feelings that were figments of his imagination.

He can see himself losing it, can feel the anger cresting over him in one horrible, cruel wave. "No," he  yells out, and he slams the water down, and it explodes out the top, showering them in droplets. "No!" he yells again. "No, no, no."

Harry opens his mouth to say something, but Louis can't hear anything else. The roaring in his ears is too loud to hear anything but the pounding of his own destroyed heart. "I might have written that fucking song for you, but I take it back now," Louis sneers, angry and cruel. "And I don't believe a fucking word of yours. Not anymore. Not after what you did."

Harry bows his head and lets Louis just yell. Lets him spit out the worst of the venom that’s coursing through his veins and that's almost worse, Louis thinks, that he won't fight back, that he just takes it.

Liam reaches over and puts a reassuring hand on his back. "We know, we know, Lou. It's okay," he tries soothing. Niall looks panicked, Zayn actually mildly concerned.

"It's not okay," Louis yells. "It's not fucking okay."

There's another long, awkward silence as Louis' words just echo in the kitchen. Finally Harry looks up at him, and Louis can see that steel resolve is back in his eyes. Like nothing can really hurt him again, even Louis.

"Louis," he says quietly but with determination, "come talk to me in the other room."

At first, Lou thinks he wants to keep yelling because he thought that might feel better than just standing here, and taking the body blows, one at a time. But yelling the worst cruelties he can think of at Harry doesn't make him feel better. He feels worse. He feels guilty.

"Fine," he grumbles. "Since you won't stop nattering on about it."

"Good," Harry says and they walk over into living room, and Louis makes sure that there's a good, respectable distance between them. None of this walking as close as they could, like they used to. No, he puts a good three feet between them.

Louis plops down on the couch. "I'm here. What do you want to say?"

Harry perches on a chair and even though it's a different chair, it's so much the same position he used to occupy in the living room that Louis' heart just aches and aches. This feels like the cruelest, most painful exercise he could ever be forced to endure and he just wants it to end, but it's not going to. It's going to go on and on for months and suddenly, he's just not sure he can do it. Not really.

"'Happily' was not a lie. None of it was a lie," Harry says and his voice is so steady, Louis is almost jealous. It's crazy of him to think this but it was almost better when Harry was crying and upset as he is.

"Fine," Louis tosses off carelessly. He doesn't fucking care anymore. He's already exposed way too much of his  own pain.

"No," Harry says, and his determination seems to increase and even  though  Louis won't look at him, he can tell Harry is just staring at him. "No. You don’t understand. You're not listening."

Louis doesn't think this even deserves a response so he just sits in silence, staring at the black TV screen.

"Lou," Harry says slowly, "I've loved you every day since I met you. Nine years ago. I loved you when I left you. I loved you when I tried to destroy myself. I loved you when I  fixed myself. I love you still. I'll never stop loving you."

If Louis thought the pain was bad before, it's child's play compared to the way these words hit him. Harry's literally carpet-bombing his heart right now. Louis squeezes his fists together and tries really hard not to let the tears escape.

"I know that you're probably never going to forgive me for leaving. I'll probably never forgive myself, not completely. I'll spend the rest of my life without you in payment for that. But I don't want you to believe that I didn't love you, because I did. I do."

"You and I have very different definitions of love," Lou finally manages to choke out. His throat is closed so tight it's a miracle he's able to speak at all.

"Not so different, I think," Harry says so tenderly Louis wants to die.

Neither of them say anything for a minute, but there's one thing Harry said that's rattling around in Louis' brain and won't  be silenced. He asks because he has to know. He has to know if it's just something that Harry said, in the heat of the moment, and didn't  really  mean.

"Did you. . ." Louis clears his throat, "did you really mean what you said, about listening to 'Strong' every day?"

Harry just nods, and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He navigates through a few menus and leans over to show the Louis the screen. It's the music app, and it's opened to  Midnight Memories,  to the track listing. He's got every song downloaded to his phone, but it lists the number of plays in tiny font underneath each track. Harry has listened to  'Strong'  over 10,000 times.

Louis cries then. His head sinks into his hands and he just cries. He doesn't even know what he's crying for, maybe for the last five years, for the number of times he yearned for Harry so much he thought he was going to fade into nothing if Harry didn't come back. And while it shouldn't, Louis knows it shouldn't, it means something to him that maybe Harry was yearning the same way. Lou doesn't understand why he couldn't just come back, couldn't just extend a hand and say he was sorry, but Louis does understand that Harry believed he couldn't. Harry believed he had to stay away and fix himself and somehow, that song has helped him do it.

So maybe that's what he's crying for. That even when he thought he couldn’t help Harry, that his love couldn't reach him, that when he believed he was forgotten and left behind, it was actually the thought of him that kept Harry going.

Louis believes him now. He believes Harry still loves him. They'll sing the song now, that song and the others. But he also believes that Harry's right about Louis ever forgiving him. Louis isn't sure he can. There 's been too much time. There's too much pain.

Louis finally raises his wet eyes and sees Harry staring back at him, and there's tears on his cheeks too. "We'll sing the songs," Louis says, and his voice cracks.

"Thank you, Lou," Harry breathes out, and there's this wondrous, tremulous smile on his face. He reaches for Louis, his arms moving in the same way they used to when they wanted Louis close, but Lou stands up and skirts around him instead. He can see Harry try not to flinch at the obvious rejection  but of course it hurts. That's all it does anymore, Louis thinks.

He  walks into the kitchen, and into three  concerned gazes. But all Louis can think of is the boy who's following him.

The rest of the meeting is quiet and Louis can tell the others are trying to get through the rest of Liam's agenda as quickly as possible. Niall breaks into the crisps they brought, and offers them around but there's no other takers. Louis thinks if he eats anything, he will most definitely throw it up. Harry looks much the same.

No doubt Liam and Zayn are so fit that they don't even eat crisps anymore, Louis thinks morosely.

"There's one last thing," Harry says as Liam is wrapping up his notes, emailing them to himself from Louis' laptop. "I'm going to come out in the interview tomorrow."

Four jaws drop.

Okay, maybe not Louis' so much, because  he knew how much Harry wanted to before Detroit happened, and then  there's  his conversation with Lou this morning, but  Louis still feels  a good bit of surprise.

"Harry," Liam says so carefully, "you realize what this will probably mean."

"Yes." And Louis is almost proud of how there is zero hesitation on Harry's face. He is absolutely sure.

"Everyone will think that you and Louis were together."

Harry's voice is so gentle. "Louis and I were together, Li. For four years."

"Yeah, and there was a ridiculous amount of energy and time and press spent on hiding that." Liam doesn't have to say that he's been party to more lies than all of them put together. Louis was careful to not say anything he couldn't explain later,  and Harry frankly almost never said a word, but Liam was always so worried and afraid of what having two gay members in a relationship might do to the band that he was always willing, maybe a little too willing, to lie.

This will definitely affect Louis, but Louis knows it'll affect Liam too. All those sound bites are going to get unearthed and Liam's name will get drug through the mud, right along with Harry and Louis'.

"Ridiculous is the right word," Louis finally speaks up. "If Harry wants to come out, then he should. He's wanted to do it for nine years. He's waited long enough."

"What about you, Lou?" Niall asks softly. "You're going to get questions too."

"Then I come out, too. I'm not lying anymore. I'm done  lying."

"Please  just  tell me you're not going to be honest about Larry  Stylinson," Liam begs and Louis can see the panic in his eyes.

"I said no more lies," Louis says patiently and he looks up at Harry and sees him nod minutely. "If people want to ask, then we'll be honest."

"Did you two discuss this beforehand?" Niall asks, clearly curious. "You're so much on the same page."

Harry just laughs at this. "We were on the same page five years ago. The page just  never changed."

Niall beams and Louis thinks it's so adorable how Niall was always their biggest fan. "I think I'm going to love this page."

Liam mutters something under his breath about how it's his least favorite page. Zayn is frowning, mostly because he's always been so damn protective of Liam and his fucking feelings. Louis valiantly tries not to roll his eyes.

"This is a really big deal," Liam says again, like he's about to launch into one of his Daddy Direction lectures, and it's been a long day and Louis really can't take it getting longer.

"Actually, it isn't," Louis interrupts him. "It's the simplest thing in the world. Harry likes boys. I like boys. We liked each other. End of story."

"I just don't want it to overshadow the tour," Liam whines and Louis refuses to control his epic eye roll this time.

"You mean, the tour you didn't even want to do two weeks ago?" Lou asks innocently.

"If they want to come out, they should," Niall argues. "They've wanted to for ages. It's not fair to ask them to keep lying. I never thought we should have lied in the first place."

"It wasn't our decision, Niall," Liam snaps back.

"But it is this time," Harry adds. "You said we had more power this time. I want to use that power for something good. Something that isn't a lie."

Louis meets Harry's eyes across the kitchen counter, and he gives him a hesitant smile for the first time since he came back. He couldn't be prouder of Harry. He wasn't a hundred percent convinced before  Detroit, but now, five years later,  Louis knows it's the right thing to do.

It feels right.

"I just don’t think Louis should be forced out too, if he doesn't want to be," Zayn adds.

"I'm fine," Louis says. "I wasn't exactly in the closet the last five years. I just never got asked about it. Nobody cared anymore."

He glances up at Harry and knows he still cared. He'll always care. Louis is reminded of a moment on that ridiculous "This is Us" camping trip when Harry said they'll always be a part of each other's lives. And it turns out, he's right. Even if they're not together, even if Louis can never forgive him for what he's done, they're still connected to each other through music and  shared memories and these other lads and so much fucking love.

"So it's settled then," Zayn says, shooting Liam a  supportive look. Louis is fairly certain Liam is going to spend the next twenty four hours melting down about all the lies he's told and how everyone will know what he did to keep Harry and Louis' relationship a secret. Louis might feel bad for him, but he figures it's not a bad thing for Liam to experience a little regret. It'll be a learning experience.

Once upon a time, Louis thought he might feel a little anxiety himself over coming out of the closet, but there isn't a speck of it now. There isn't a single particle of anxiousness left inside him, it's all taken over by  Harry and the  tour and  Harry again.

Zayn goes to check the front, and reports there's still a few straggling paparazzi hanging out across from Lou's doorway. Louis rolls his eyes at their determination. "I hope they're proper bored," he says.

"Guess we'll go through the back again," Harry says and Louis thinks he's almost reluctant to leave. Maybe he is. This did used to be his house, after all.

"Hey, I didn't even ask," Louis finds himself asking Harry, "where are you staying?"   


"With Gemma," Harry says.

"Of course," Louis says, because of course he is. Of course Gemma and Anne  and Robin forgave him. They're his family. It's practically required.

"I see you saw Lou today," Harry says with a glimmer of a smile as he glances shyly over at Lou. "Your hair looks good."

"It's all Louise ," Louis says self-consciously. Of course Harry was going to notice, he was just hoping he wouldn't say anything.

"You cut it shorter," Harry continues.

"Less of a hassle for the tour," Louis improvises.

"I like it," Harry says and Louis can't help it, he fucking blushes.

"Seriously, Lou," Harry says and he's edging closer to where Louis is standing. Zayn has gravitated to where Liam is freaking out, and there's  now  an empty space between Harry and Louis. Nobody to buffer them, and Louis can see Harry wants to take advantage of this. Louis doesn't know if he can forgive him, but he also doesn't know how he feels about Harry coming closer. "You look really fit."

Louis laughs but secretly he is way too pleased. "Your eyes must have gotten really bad."

Harry is  right next to him now , and his eyes,  though  still a tiny bit red, are glowing green. "My eyes are fine," he retorts. "You just never could see yourself properly."

"I'm going to have to get back on the treadmill," Louis mourns, spanning his waist with his hands. "It's not  been  my best mate lately ."

Harry grins. "It never was." He glances behind Louis, eyes hot but so, so fond. "But your bum is still as amazing as ever. I  dunno how you do it."

"Lying on the couch and eating crisps," Louis says as smugly as he can and Harry's smile is just so wide. They're staring at each other now, and Louis is finally really looking at Harry. At the curve of his lips and his cheekbones, and the fact that he still has the dimples, and then his gaze drifts lower, across the wide shoulders, the clearly defined biceps in his tight black t-shirt and Louis has to swallow hard. It's been so long since he was even remotely turned on, by anyone really, but suddenly he's half-hard in his jeans and awkwardly leaning against the counter so Harry won't realize.

They're bantering, flirting really, in so much the way they always used to. Louis looks down and sees Harry's hand inching closer to his own arm, and if he doesn’t move in the next ten seconds, their skin will touch.

Suddenly, it's just too much. Maybe someone else, someone better, more controlled, less needy, could take Harry upstairs and at least let the sexual side of their relationship resume. Louis is smart enough to know that he could use the release, and it would be so, so good. Like it always was between them. He knows Harry so well and he knows  Harry's practically inviting him to keep him here when the other lads leave. It would be too easy to let themselves fall into old patterns, mostly because Louis loved the old patterns. He wants  them, he needs  them. But then he remembers  Detroit and the note and then  all those nights alone,  culminating in  the evening Zayn and Liam packed up Harry's belongings and carted them away.

And Louis knows he can't do it.  He can't  forgive Harry. Not for all that he's done.

He pulls away from the counter stiffly, turning away from Harry, and hopes the painful memories he's just forced himself to remember will calm his erection down.

Harry has the nerve to look even the slightest bit disappointed. But then he grins and gives a shrug, like he didn't really expect any less but  it was worth a try anyway. Louis really, really hopes Harry stops trying because self-control has never been his  strong suit.

"Early meeting tomorrow, lads," Harry says then. "I'd better be off." He says his goodbyes, and the others follow  behind him shortly, and almost too quickly, Louis finds himself alone again in his big house.

Harry's right. It's an early morning tomorrow, and flicking the lights off and making sure the doors are locked, Louis heads upstairs for bed. He's just brushing his teeth when he hears his phone ding in the bedroom.

He meanders over to where it's charging on the bedside table. It's another text from Harry, from that unknown number that Louis has refused to enter into his phone. Harry is unsurprisingly persistent.

As Louis opens the text message, he realizes that Harry is also unsurprisingly blunt and he spends uncounted minutes sitting on the edge of the bed, toothbrush in his mouth, staring at the words on the screen.

"You still love to squeeze into your jeans, but you're perfect to me."

Louis finally gets up, and in a trance, goes into the bathroom to finish brushing his teeth. When he's done, he stares at the phone again, and though he decides not to reply to the text, he does do one thing.

Instead of deleting the message, he adds Harry Styles' number back into his phone.

  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three things:
> 
> 1\. I'll be gone for a week in Mexico starting next weekend so I thought I'd post this behemoth of a chapter now, to tide you all over until I get back. There MIGHT be another update before I go, but I'm also on deadline with my next novel, so we will see.
> 
> 2\. I honestly have like zero knowledge about Liam and Sophia or Liam and Danielle. I just remember reading somewhere that he was like 2 weeks away from proposing when they broke up and that made me really sad. So yeah. Feel free to beat me up about this odd little side plot I added.
> 
> 3\. "Even My Dad Does Sometimes" Ed Sheeran

 

"Are you okay?" Liam quietly asks Louis. They're taking several cars from the Modest offices to the TV studio where the interview  is taking place.  In the parking lot,  Liam had steered Louis  and himself to  one vehicle and glared at the rest of the group, who  got the memo  dispersed themselves to the other cars.  Before he even climbs into the dark car,  Louis knows that he's in for a lecture.

He also knows he kind of deserves it. He hasn't been able to sit still all morning, fidgeting horribly and jiggling his leg impatiently  in the meeting and barely paying any attention to what the fuckers say. It's really all just riffs on the same theme, anyway. They're all supposed to be happy that Harry is back.  The only highlight is that Harry doesn't  confess  anything about coming out and Louis is almost amused at this.  It's going to be hilarious watching everyone scramble when the shit hits the fan.

"Fine," Louis bites off, because he's a little pissed, still. More like  really  pissed in general, but a little bit pissed that the other lads ganged up on him  when he was at his most vulnerable and got him to agree to sing the songs that he swore up until yesterday that he would never, ever  perform  again. It feels unfair and mean and kind of cruel, and while Louis  doesn't  know  if Harry is those things still, he knows that Niall and Liam and Zayn aren't. So why they did it is kind of beyond him and it's all he's been able to think about since he woke up this morning.

"You're not fine," Liam says again, so reasonable that Louis kind of wants to punch him in the face. Of course he's not fucking fine. He's never going to be fine again.

"You can be angry, you know," Liam continues. "I'd be angry if I was you."

"What, because my best friends turned on me and sold me out to that asshole?" Louis jabs a finger towards the car sitting in the lane next to them, not even trying to be subtle about it. Because Louis  wants so desperately to believe that Harry's  an asshole.  Wants to believe  he's been manipulating him the entire time, playing him by being all sweet and nice and innocent, by flirting with him, by noticing his bum again.

The truth is, Lou had  a really shitty night;  he kept waking up from dreams that he'd rather not be  having. Louis is able to admit that  he's tired and grumpy and more than a little sexually frustrated, which was fine before, but after five years of celibacy is no laughing matter. But that still doesn't make Harry any less of an asshole.

Or Liam or Niall or Zayn, for that matter.

"Lou," Liam tries again, " I'm not sure you get it. We're on  your  side."

Louis just snorts at this and Liam frowns. "I know what Harry said about the songs, and I get his reasons. But they weren't my reasons." Louis glances up and Liam is maybe as serious as he's ever seen him. "You've been so stuck. And we all thought maybe you'd snap out of it eventually, but it's been five years.  You're  not really any better than you were after Detroit, you've just got better at hiding it."

Liam isn't wrong. But Louis doesn't know how to explain how he's just never going to get better. It's not in the cards for him. The lads trying to jerk him forcibly out of his rut isn't going to help; it's going to make everything worse.

Especially because Harry's there now.

Louis sighs. "Do you ever wonder if this is just the way I am now?"

Liam shakes his head decisively and Louis can tell from the gleam in his eye that he's remembering some of his old antics . Unfortunately, the Louis of today feels a million years old and that Louis feels like an immature child. "I refuse to accept that."

Louis leans back and closes his eyes. He really, really does not want to have this conversation with Liam. "Think of it as pre-Harry and post-Harry. Some people just change you, Li. I'm never going to be the same."

He's had  years to accept this, but the thought still makes the lump in his throat grow. Louis swallows it away and really hopes they are close to the TV studio. Apparently even coming out on national TV is prefer able to continuing to  talk about this with Liam and  really,  doesn't that say it all?

"I get it, you know," Liam says so quietly that Louis barely hears him. He opens his eyes and stares at Liam , who actually, literally has tears in his eyes.

Liam, the stoic one, the proper one, is almost crying. It's not the most surprising thing that Louis has ever seen but it definitely ranks up there.

"Oh,  Payno.  I didn't know you cared so much."

Liam laughs and it's a little watery and unsure. "You  arsehole, of course I know how you feel. You don't need to explain it to me."

Then it hits Louis. Of course Liam understands. Lou remembers like it was yesterday, Liam sobbing in his arms when he and Danielle broke up. He remembers the shaved head and the six month period where Liam practically never smiled.

Louis remembers a ring that Liam  fucking  carried around for years, even when he started dating Sophia.

And it all reminds Louis that he isn't the only man in the world to have his heart broken. Yeah, since he's Louis Tomlinson, of course it had to happen in a spectacular way, but he's not alone. Liam knows. He was there too.

"You guys helped a ton, I couldn't have  made it  without you," Liam is saying. "But we fucking let you down,  Tommo. We were too caught up in our own fucking lives to help you the same way you helped us."

Louis isn't sure what to say. Finally he decides the truth might as well suffice. "You couldn't have helped. You can't help, even now. It is what it is."

Liam brushes a hand over Louis'  collarbone , where he knows the "is" rests. "I already told you. We're not going to accept that. The old Louis is buried in there somewhere. "

There's silence in the car for a few minutes because Louis doesn't know how else to deny this,  but  then finally Liam sighs, deep and heavy. "I lied earlier."

"What?" Louis asks, looking back from the window.

"I lied last night, when I said Sophia would be coming on the tour. She's not coming."

Louis feels something stutter in his chest. He was in Liam and Sophia's wedding. He doesn't remember a lot from that weekend, mostly because he felt it was better for everyone that he judiciously numbed his pain , but he does remember how happy Liam looked that day. The happiest he'd seen him in a long time. And it really hasn't been all that long since the wedding. Two or three years maybe. Suddenly there's a deep foreboding in Lou's heart and he really can't take it if Liam is unhappy too. Louis knows for himself that there's nothing to be done, and even Harry looks proper miserable half the time, though  he fucking deserves it, but Liam shouldn't be unhappy. There's no earthly reason for that. He's Liam Payne; he's never done a bad thing in his entire life.

" We're getting a divorce," Liam says and his voice is so soft, Louis can barely hear him over the car's engine.

"Oh, god, Li. I'm so, so sorry," Louis says, and he puts his arm around him and drags him close. It's been a long time since they held each other this way but it still feels natural and right. "What happened?"

"You can't tell anyone," Liam says first, almost automatically, and Louis just rolls his eyes. "Okay,  not like I thought you would, I just thought I should start with that. She's agreed to postpone filing until after the tour."

"But. Why?" Louis asks, even though he has a fair idea of what's coming.

There are tears still glimmering in Liam's eyes when he looks up at Louis. "It's hard to be married to someone when you always imagined it would be someone else."

Okay, so Liam really does understand. He understands and Louis feels the tightness in his chest loosen. Not that it's about him at all. It's not. It's about Liam, who's clearly hurting. "God,  Payno. I had no idea you still. .  ."

He just shrugs. "I've gotten good at hiding it. I guess, from everyone else."

"You know you don't have to hide from me," Louis says.

"I know. I'm sorry. And I’m sorry I was an ass about the coming out thing. I know you've wanted to for a long time I just. . .I was thinking about me, and what people might say. Fucking Liam Payne, ruining his best mates' lives, and then getting divorced. Everyone will think I'm the unhappiest person in the world."

"I know," Louis replies. "It's not going to be easy for any of us."

"It might actually ruin us," Liam observes, and he doesn't even seem that disappointed in the possibility.

"We're already ruined," Louis says pragmatically and Liam just nods. Because they are. One Direction both saved them and destroyed them.  Louis is still trying to come to grips with it, and he knows the others have been too.

"I just want you to know, I never thought it was right," Liam says. "I tried to remember last night when I got home if I ever said that to you two, back then, and I don't think I did. And that really felt like shit. I was a shit."

Louis  wishes he hadn't thought  just yesterday  that Liam could use a little regret in his life. He doesn't deserve this. None of them do. But it's what they're getting. "You said it," Louis just shrugs. "Maybe you didn't use the words, but you said it. You believed it. We knew that."

"I know you hated the lying," Liam says with finality. "You and  Haz had more reason than anyone to hate it, but we all hated it. It wasn't right. Not from the beginning. Love is love."

Liam isn't usually a profound person, and Louis thinks he's drifted away from him a little in the last few years. Maybe he's been sub-consciously blaming him. He's not sure. But he's never felt closer to Liam than he does right now. "Li," Louis says softly, as heartfelt as he can, "thank you."

Liam leans over and grips Louis' hand hard. "We've got you, Lou. Always."

\---------

It's Harry's turn first at the interview.

Louis and the rest of the lads sit back in the green room. There's a TV there, broadcasting the interview. It's risky but management didn't want the possibility of a leak, so it's all live. Which means Harry can say anything he wants and there's no way they can hush it up.

Louis has always thought Modest was absolutely fucking incompetent, but this kind of takes the cake. Obviously they've forgotten what annoying little shits the five of them used to be. They're out of practice, and they're going to pay for that stupidity with Larry  Stylinson. Or what used to be Larry  Stylinson.

Harry looks nervous, Louis thinks, he's twitching in the chair as they brush powder along his hairline. And since Harry has more of his soul to bare than the rest of them combined, Lou guesses  he should be.

The interview starts simply enough, with the interviewer welcoming Harry back to England. Harry deploys one of his quirky, big smiles--one of the smiles that  once  launched a billion fans and  also stole Louis' heart.  This is a natural  transition to talking about where Harry has been for the last five years, and the interviewer jumps right on it, asking the question straight out.

Louis tries to pretend that he's fussing with his hair in the mirror, or playing with his phone, but in reality he's listening to every single word Harry is saying. All four of them are.

"First off, I want to say that I'm sorry for leaving like I did. I know I let a lot of our fans down, fans that paid money and stood in lines to see me, to see us as a complete group, and I failed them. But," and Harry stares right at the camera, tears already glimmering in his green eyes, "I was sick."

The interviewer opens her mouth to ask something, but Harry's already steamrolling past her, and Louis wonders idly, if he's been practicing this speech. It seems to fall so naturally off his lips, and Harry was never the most eloquent speaker.

"I was sick," he repeats. "Drunk and sick. When you're told so many times a day, every day of your life, that what you are, what you believe, what you love, is wrong and an abomination, you become sick."

Louis knows. He wonders sometimes how much this pain he's lived with the last few years is directly because of Harry leaving and  how much is  residual from the daily confrontations Harry's talking about right now. It hurt then; Louis is discomforted to discover that it still hurts.

Harry pauses then, like he's just waiting for the interviewer to ask the right question, and though she seems to be scrambling a bit at this abrupt change of angle, she does. "What do you mean, Harry?"

"I'm gay," he says so frankly that Louis is beyond proud of him. He hears Liam let out a little sigh and Niall makes a whoop. The interviewer looks like she just got hit with a train.

"I've known I was gay since I was fourteen years old. The producers at X-Factor knew I was gay. Modest Management knew I was gay. And if there are any fans out there still, they know just how intensely Modest tried to cover this fact up."

There's something unwinding inside of Louis. Years and years of lies and agony and hate. He always believed they'd weigh a ton, from the way they settled hard and fast into his chest, but today they're light and floating away like they're weightless. And yes, he is still mad at Harry, still beyond pissed at what he did and what he's still doing, but god, there is no more bitterness. No more hate.

"Let me understand you," the interviewer stutters out, and it's totally worth the shit they are going to get later to see her so lost. "This is why you became an alcoholic?"

"Being an alcoholic isn't a choice. It isn't a response to something bad that happens to you. It isn't a response to something good that happens. It just is. It's in here," Harry says, touching his chest. "It's part of who I am. But yes, the situation with Modest didn't exactly help. And then," he pauses and looks straight out at the camera and Louis can almost believe he's looking straight at him, "there was Louis."

The interviewer literally gapes at him. "Louis? What does Louis have to do with this?"

Louis smiles at this. Either she was under a rock a few years ago, or she did  not do her research before this interview.

"Louis and I were together for four years. We were never allowed to publicly acknowledge what we felt for each other, never allowed to speak of the relationship we had. And in the end, we weren't even allowed to look at each other."

The words settle hard into the air. There's a gravity, a pain to them. "Your band mate, Louis Tomlinson," the interviewer asks carefully. "You were in love with him?"

Harry nods. "I've been in love with Louis practically from the moment I met him. And at first our relationship wasn't a problem. We were always asked about girls, but those questions were easy enough to deflect. Then people started noticing how close we were, how we looked at each other." He takes a deep breath. "And suddenly, it was a huge problem. Our management team was terrified that people would begin to suspect the actual truth."

The interviewer has finally caught on and there's a gleam in her eye. "Larry  Stylinson?" she asks.

"Larry  Stylinson. Every word of it was true," Harry confesses. "Everything the fans saw, it was how Louis and I felt about each other. And so, so much they didn't see because they were never allowed to. Because that meant we might sell less records or not sell out tour dates. "

Louis thinks he might be crazy but is there actually a tear in the interviewers' eye? Is she crying?

"Harry, I am so sorry. This is. . ." she pauses, as if she's trying to find the right words, and Louis realizes he was right; she's totally choked up. "It's just a very sad story," she finishes.

"It is," Harry agrees and hearing about it now, Louis has never agreed more. In so many ways, One Direction was both their saving grace and their curse. "And now you can begin to see why alcohol began to be a refuge for me. At first  Louis always kept me sane and strong, but with the way social media had exploded, it was too easy for fans to track us, to keep tabs on our movements. So management began to keep us apart even more, even on our days off. Then finally, Eleanor, who was the fake girlfriend that management had created for Louis, came on the North American part of our tour. And I didn't handle it very well." Harry's smile is wry, clearly stating how much of an understatement this was.

"It was so hard to see them together, to watch her occupy the place by Louis' side that was really mine. I started drinking before concerts, drinking all the time really. The lads tried to help, Lou tried to help, but nobody could help. Nobody could fix the problems that we were struggling with except the very people who'd created them in the first place. Something was going to break, and I was afraid it wouldn't be me. I was afraid it might be Louis or it might be the band. I thought at the time that it was better that it was me that broke. "

Harry wipes a tear from his cheek and Louis glances up and sees to his surprise there are tears on his cheeks too. He's been crying and he didn't even know. He glances around the room and the other three are  trying to hide it, but they're all in a similar state.

Louis has never thought of it that way before. He always thought Harry left because he was angry and resentful that they'd tried to curb his drinking. It's never actually occurred to him that Harry left because he was trying to  protect them.

So of course, Louis wonders if it's actually true. Or if it's just a convenient fabrication for the TV camera that makes him look much more sympathetic. Louis knows he will probably never know the truth.

"So you left," the interviewer prompts.

"I left," Harry confirms. "And I want to say again, if I could go back in time, I wouldn't leave that way. I wouldn't just disappear and let people wonder where I'd gone, if I was safe. But I was sick. Sick in heart and sick in body."

It helps to hear that, Louis thinks. He didn't think it would, but it does.

"Where did you go?" the interviewer asks.

"I went to rehab," Harry confesses. "One after another. For nearly three years. I kept falling off the wagon in between, and see, I'd promised myself that I wouldn't go back to England, to the boys, until I was sober for two years. I thought at first that it would only take two years. But I'd underestimated how difficult it was to be alone and struggle alone with my addiction. I was so used to having this amazing support system, of the lads and Louis. And I missed them so much, Louis especially. Sometimes it just got to be too much, and to numb the pain, I'd start drinking again."

"A vicious cycle, then," the interviewer observes. "You were staying away from them to get sober, but the very separation caused you to drink."

Harry nods earnestly. "Finally, I had a really terrible relapse, and ended up in the hospital."

Louis freezes. He can see his eyes, wide and pained, in the mirror. There are tight white lines bracketing his mouth, and he feels like he might actually be sick.

"That sounds really serious," she says.

"It was very serious. I guess they found me in an alley and they weren't sure I'd make it." Harry's voice is soft and contemplative. "I met someone in the hospital when I was recovering, someone who'd figured out who I was, despite my fake ID. His daughter had loved One Direction before she was hit by a drunk driver, and the man had taken this horrible thing, this thing that might cause anyone else to never forgive another alcoholic, but instead, he'd made it his life's mission to help people like me. He ran a program out of his house."

"And he helped you get sober?" she asks.

Harry just nods. "It was. . . very different from the other rehab clinics I'd been to."

"Different how?"

Louis isn't sure he wants to hear this. He's sure it's going to be something horrible.

Harry takes a deep steadying breath. "He used something called aversion therapy."

"I'm not sure what that is, and I'm sure our viewers aren't either," the interviewer points out. "Could you explain it?"

Harry looks like he really, really doesn’t want to. Louis can see him hesitate and then steel himself, that determination emerging in his eyes again. "The idea behind aversion therapy is to make whatever the patient is addicted to so absolutely awful that they're never tempted to try it again, because the very thought makes them horribly, horribly sick. "

It turns out that Louis' guess wasn't that far off. It definitely sounds awful.

"And you did this?"

"I did. I had to. It was my last chance. It took me three months." There's a slight tremor where Harry is holding his hands together, tightly, and his face is so white, transparent almost under the stage lights. He looks awful, like this is maybe too much for him suddenly, and Louis has to fight hard to not jump up and race to his defense. It's an ingrained reaction, from years of having to save Harry, sometimes from himself.

But like before, Harry seemingly pulls himself together. "After three months, I never touched alcohol again."

"That's an absolutely amazing story, Harry. I'm so touched you wanted to share it with us. And I'm thrilled you're back." The interviewer actually sounds completely genuine, and Louis can't really blame her. He's kind of in awe himself.

Louis had no idea that Harry had worked so hard to stay sober. He had no idea that he'd left for rehab in Detroit. He'd just assumed Harry leaving was one giant middle finger to Louis specifically and the band in general. It helps to know that Harry, while misguided, was trying to do the best thing he could.

The cameras cut to commercial and suddenly it's their turn to be led to the stage. They arrange chairs, two shorter in front, three taller in back, so much the way they used to sit that Louis is definitely feeling a bit of déjà vu. Harry is off towards the back of the soundstage, wiping his nose and eyes on a tissue. Louis considers approaching him, but he's not sure what he would even say. It feels like they've said both too much and too little to each other.

But before he can even decide if it's a good idea, they're arranging them on the chairs, calling Harry back to the stage, and the cameras are rolling again.

Not surprisingly, the interviewer focuses in right away on Louis. "Louis, why don't you tell us a little bit about your side of the story Harry shared with us earlier?"

Louis isn't sure how much there is of his story to tell. He fell in love with Harry Styles, was beaten and demoralized into keeping their relationship secret, and then Harry left. And he's spent the last five years a jaded, bitter disaster. It's not all that interesting, not like Harry's was.

It's just pathetic.

So Louis decides to focus on the good parts, the parts that Harry couldn't really explain because he was too focused on making sure everyone knew what Modest had done to them. "I fell in love with Harry in the loo," he confesses with a crooked smile. It's kind of amazing how much this kind of thing comes back to you, he thinks, it's just like riding a bicycle. "He looked up at me with those big green eyes, and I was just a goner."

"Had you already suspected you were gay?"

Louis nods. "I'd wondered. Girls never really tended to excite me, and lads did, or they would have if I'd let them. But one look at Harry and I knew. I knew I could never feel that way and not be gay."

"The feeling was rather mutual," Harry inserts cheekily and the interviewer giggles a bit. She's clearly charmed by the story. Charmed and dismayed at the same time, which, Louis isn't sure how that's even really possible, but apparently it is.

"As anyone who watched that season of X-Factor knows, we were inseparable. He was my best friend and my lover." Louis glances down and picks at a loose thread on his jeans. "He was everything to me."

"And you were told to give him up," she responds with a sympathetic glance.

"Not give up, per se," Louis clarifies. "Keep secret, more like."

"And you were willing to do that," she states.

Louis spreads his arms out and shrugs. "I was madly in love. I would have done anything they asked, I only wanted to be with Harry. We thought at first that it wouldn't be so bad. It was almost like a joke at first, a little trick we were playing on the world. We'd try to outdo each other in interviews, to see how much we could get away with saying, with doing."

Liam laughs then. "It was bloody awful. They're absolute nuisances," he adds in, and the interviewer turns to him. "Did the rest of you know about Harry and Louis?" she asks.

"It'd be a little hard to miss," Niall chuckles. "Like Lou said, they were practically attached at the hip. They were like one entity.  HarryandLouis. And it was kind of sweet."

"We all knew really early," Zayn explains. "Like Niall said, they were absolute saps for each other."

"But I know, you, Liam were often trying to say there wasn't anything going on?" the interviewer questions.

Liam sighs, and Louis almost wishes he could deflect this question, considering what he's discovered today about Liam's marriage. But this is Liam's bed. He made it. He's got to lie in it now.

"I regret the things I said deeply. Have you ever wanted something so much you craved it, that you'd do just about anything to have it? That was me and a singing career. Management told me that if anyone found out about Harry and Louis, we'd be sunk. So I lied. I'm not proud of it. They were my two best friends, and I helped make their lives miserable."

Liam sounds miserable now, and Louis decides he's beaten himself up enough for today.

"Honestly, Li, it wasn't so bad," Louis soothes. "It wasn't really your fault, even. We agreed to a lot of it."

"Louis, what about Eleanor? I'm assuming that your relationship with her was never real."

"Never," Louis confirms. "We were friends, I guess. Though towards the end, I resented her existence so much we sort of started to dislike each other. I feel badly about that."

"And she was management's idea?" the interviewer questions.

"One hundred percent. I'm not sure I was ready to come out of the closet back then. I was so damn young, kind of naïve really, but I was not interested in lying. I was not interested in creating a fabrication of a life. I only wanted to be with Harry. I guess you could say I didn't really believe it was anyone's business who I chose to be with."

Louis pauses, debating with himself for a second, but he's sure this is the right path and so he continues. "But Harry had it so much worse than I did. My role was a devoted boyfriend. Harry's was a womanizer, a man who treated women like disposable garbage, and I can't even tell you how wrong that was. He's one of the best people I know, respectful of everyone, and he would never in a million years act that way. Management didn't just make sure nobody knew he was gay, they wanted everyone to think he was shagging everything that moved."

"That must have been really hard," she observes.

Louis just nods. He doesn't think there are even words to express how awful it was, to sit by and be completely powerless while they turned the reputation--the very personality--of the man he loved into something twisted and false.

"I think the worst of it," Niall adds in, "was the rumor they spread that Harry and Louis weren't friends anymore because people suspected they were gay. As if being gay were something horrible to avoid at all costs. That was . . ." He clearly doesn't have words either, because he just trails off, but Louis can practically feel three other heads behind him, nodding in agreement.

"Love is love," Liam says, and Louis likes this new motto of his. "There's nothing wrong with it, in any of its forms."

"So, Harry, now that you're back," the interviewer says coyly, "what does this mean for One Direction?"

"We're going on a reunion tour," Harry says, and for the first time since hearing about this fucking tour, Louis feels something other than dread. He's not sure it's actually excitement or pleasure, but it's not utter horror and that's definitely a step in the right direction.

It makes him wonder, just a little, if maybe there isn't something to what Liam said to him earlier, in the car. Maybe he can't ever be who he was--that's asking a lot, considering what he's been through--but maybe there's a bit of the old Louis still there. Maybe there's something worth salvaging.

"Tickets will be going on sale next week. There's a list of tour dates going up on  our website later today," Liam explains. "We're all very excited to see our fans again. And to sing together again."

"Any new songs you'll be singing?" the interviewer asks.

"Nope,  just  the old ones, but there will be some new arrangements. Some changes, for sure. We're grown up now and we're  a bit wiser and smarter. We make our own decisions now," Zayn says.

Louis wonders if Zayn is even the tiniest bit grateful that the whole  Larry  Stylinson debacle has completely pushed to the back of everyone's mind the fact that he went all Batman on a few paparazzi the other day. That's friendship, Louis thinks wryly. They've totally saved his ass.

"This show is going to be all us," Niall says. "One hundred percent us."

"Wasn't there even the slightest bit of difficulty, at first?" the interviewer asks. "When Harry came back? I mean, he'd just left, five years before,  right  in the middle of your tour."

Louis glances over at Niall. He knows what they've been coached to say. Liam will probably still say what he's been told to, despite what Zayn has just said.

They've been completely honest in this interview so far, Louis decides, and they shouldn't stop now .

"I was really pissed," Louis says, and ignores Liam's little gasp of protest. "I am really pissed. But Liam is right. It was lonely without Harry. We felt like were missing a very important piece of our lives. We're all happy he's back and safe and sober. And I couldn't be prouder of him."

"I think it would be hard not to be angry," Zayn says slowly. "We worried so much about him, especially after he just left. But hearing his story now, it's hard to be quite so angry. He's been through a lot."

"I don't blame them for being angry," Harry inserts. "I knew I deserved it and I expected it. I knew they would be."

"And you still came back?" the interviewer asks in a surprised tone.

"I always intended to come back. I knew it would be hard. The right thing to do usually is. But these lads, they're worth it. They were my best mates. They tried their hardest to help me, back then. I couldn't pay back that gift by disappearing from their lives. That wouldn't be right."

There are only a few more token questions after that, mostly directed at the others, asking what they've been up to the last few years, out of the spotlight. Zayn is the only one of them to really keep up his singing career, but he mostly does duets with  Perrie. Big holiday singles, and all that. Niall produces, much the same way he might have if he'd never made it on X-Factor. Liam is active with a number of different charities. He does appearance and speeches. All formal and proper-like. There's a question that Louis fields about the Rovers, which he easily and quickly answers.

When the cameras finally turn off, Louis feels like he's been sucked dry. There is no more emotion left in him, he's literally wrung out from the upheaval of what they've all just done. Modest will be furious. But it feels good, Louis thinks, looking around in the green room at the other lads, as they gather their things to go. They finally did it. They sat down in an interview and were  totally  honest. None of them lied. Not once. And damn, it feels so good.

It feels just about as good as he always thought it might.

"I'm proud of us," he says out loud. "Really fucking proud."

Niall's answering smile is bright as the sun . "We were so honest. It felt almost weird."

"It definitely felt weird," Liam says almost morosely, not nearly  as celebratory as Louis feels. And Louis hates that, because Louis knows that Liam's still keeping secrets. He's still holding it all inside. Considering what they've all done, that doesn't seem right. Maybe he shouldn't  have to tell the world just yet, but the five of them aren't the world. They're his best mates, and they deserve to know, so they can support him.

"Liam, I think you should tell them," Louis states calmly. "We're being honest here. You can't keep it from them."

"Keep what?" Zayn asks, and Liam glares at Lou. Louis figures that's probably for the fact that Zayn will be hurt and pissed that Liam told Louis first.

"Yeah, what's going on?" Niall asks.

Liam looks down at his hands. "Sophia and I are getting a divorce."

You can hear a pin drop in the room. Then suddenly, as they used to do all the time , there's a cacophony of voices, tumbling over each other, voicing concern and sympathy and support. And before Louis knows it, he's being drawn into a hug with Liam at the center, as they comfort him the way they know.

"You should have told us sooner," Zayn says semi-reproachfully. "This isn't the kind of thing you should be hiding."

"I know," Liam mopes. "It's a hard thing, though. We haven't even been married for three years."

"What happened?" Niall asks.

Liam just shrugs and glances over at Louis. Louis gives him an imperceptible nod. Liam needed to be honest, but the whole truth is something that Liam doesn't have to share. That's a private thing. He's honored Liam told him the details, but it's not his secret to share.

"It just wasn't right," Liam finally says and that's not really any kind of explanation, but Louis suspects that the rest of them have a fairly good idea why it didn't work. After all, they were all present for Liam's breakdown over his breakup with Danielle. They all know about the ring. They know he pined for years. It's not too hard of a leap to make.

Harry's head is resting on Liam's shoulder, and his arms are linked loosely around Liam's waist and he murmurs something in his ear. Liam just sighs in response.

There's a heavy knock on the door, and Harry grins. "I think we're about to face the music, lads."

Louis gives an exaggerated groan. "What can they even say?"

"Oh they're going to have plenty to say," Niall practically giggles. "But there's fuck all they can do about it."

"I wonder if ticket sales will plummet," Zayn wonders.

"Are you kidding?" Harry asks. "Larry  Stylinson was real. They're going to be queuing up by the thousands to  see us again."

Louis goes and opens the door, and one of the marketing bigwigs from the meeting is standing there, literally glowering. It's even more amazing than Lou thought it might be.

"Come in, come in," Louis chortles, opening the door wide. "We were just braiding each other's hair and painting Harry's nails."

It's the first joke he's made in what feels like years. And it feels good. It feels a little bit like Old Louis.

Harry laughs and Louis has to force his head not to turn  automatically at the sound. It's a hard habit to break. He's probably never going to stop fighting it.

"That's not very amusing," the marketing bigwig glares.

"I thought it was hilarious," Louis retorts with a carefree smile.

"You just ruined an entire tour. Let's see if you're laughing when tickets go on sale in a week."

"We didn't ruin anything," Harry says. "We always told you our fans would support us. It's time for us to prove that."

"Scratch that," Niall adds, "we don’t have anything to prove to the likes of you. It was just right to be honest, for once."

The marketing bigwig looks over at Louis with what looks to be  actual physical pain. "And you couldn't even say you were happy Harry was back."

Louis shrugs. "I'm not happy Harry is back. Well, no, that's not entirely true. I'm happy he's safe. I'm happy he's alive. I'm not happy to be doing this tour."

The marketing bigwig glares. "You've been obsolete for five years. Do you really think you can't use an extra boost to get you back in the spotlight?"

"Louis could give a shit about the spotlight," Zayn laughs.

"Louis really could give a shit," Lou agrees with a smile. It really is kind of funny how after all these years of crafting their message and pigeon-holing them for easy public consumption, these idiots don't know the five of them at all. Like not even a little.

And suddenly, Louis can almost see why Harry is making them do this. Their other tours contained so little of them, of their personalities, of their likes and dislikes. This feels like the first truly genuine thing they are doing as a band, and it does feel good. It feels like vindication.

If he could not have to face Harry every day, and the ruin of his heart, Louis thinks he might even enjoy himself a little bit.

But then Louis looks up and sees Harry watching him, so carefully, so intently, so much the way he used to, and it's too much. Louis has to turn away because the pain just flares.

There is so much wasted time. So much love and loss. Too much to ever really turn back the clock. All they can do is make something new, and Louis knows that this new world doesn't have a space for  HarryandLouis. That space is long gone, and the wrongness of that particular fact  makes him ache deep inside.

"I see you're going to be just as stubborn as you ever were," the marketing bigwig sighs.

"More, actually," Harry says. "Much, much more. Expect more of the same in the future."

"Just go ahead and set fire to what's left of your career. We don't care anymore," the marketing bigwig snaps out at them, and slams the door behind him.

The five of them burst into laughter. "I wish I could be a fly on the wall in that office the day the tickets go on sale," Niall muses and it sends them all into more hysterics. Maybe it's too much, but it feels like a rainstorm after such a long dry spell that it's hard not to let the sudden freedom overwhelm them.

"It's going to be priceless," Zayn agrees.

"Rehearsal in a few days," Liam says. "Remember to check your schedules."

"Thank you, Daddy," Louis snorts. "Did you color code mine?"

Harry laughs again, and Louis has to force his head to remain still again. "No, but you might need it, you lazy ingrate," Liam adds with a chuckle, and Louis is relieved to hear he can still laugh.

Actually, he realizes, they can all still laugh, and even if the ticket sales are dismal and terrible, Louis chalks this whole  tour  business up as  a win. Because they're  laughing  together again and they've still kind of got each other. In the end, Louis thinks, that's what really matters.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaack!!!! And I wrote while I was in Mexico, so you get a new chapter! and I wrote more on the plane last night, so hopefully another one this week too!
> 
> So I started writing this before the whole Rovers fallout, and yeah, my heart was too broken for Louis to take it out. He still seems committed to being involved in the Rovers organization, so I'm deciding to keep it in with the hope that someday, it'll be true and he'll be a part-owner.
> 
> Thank you so much for all your kind comments. They seriously make my day.
> 
> Laura Welsh "Break the Fall"

 

The alarm goes off early the next morning, and Louis groans as he turns off the shrill ringing on his phone. He rolls over and glances over at the screen, astonished for half a moment at just how many  notifications he has.

It takes a second but then he remembers and he can’t help but giggle a little helplessly.

That’s right; he fucking came out last night. He’d come home right after the interview, before anyone had had a chance to react to their bombshells, and had  gone almost straight to bed, knowing he’d be getting up early this morning.

All  his texts are supportive . Most people he’s close  to already  knew the important parts of the truth, so they’re not surprised. He debates checking his twitter mentions, but chickens out. He’ll have to deal with that fallout eventually, but he really isn’t up to it this morning.

It’s a testament to how free he suddenly feels that  Louis finds himself singing in the shower for literally the first time in years. At first it's just nonsense, random scraps of melodies and lyrics.

Then somehow, he starts singing 'Best Song Ever' and suddenly he's belting out the chorus, shampoo bottle as a microphone, and it's maybe a little ridiculous, but Lou feels pretty good when he glances in the mirror and sees that he's actually smiling.

It's a good reminder that their songs used to make what felt like a whole generation of young girls smile, and Louis feels a bit more of that tension about the tour dissipate. It'll be okay, he tells himself as he gets dressed, it'll be just grand.

Because of the upcoming rehearsal schedule, Louis has scheduled today to drive down to  Doncaster for a slew of meetings at Rovers headquarters. He doesn't know if he'll have time once rehearsals start and he definitely knows he won't after the tour begins. So it's a good time to deal with what he needs to and he also calls his mum and arranges to meet the family for dinner . It'll be a long day, but Louis finds that he's rather looking forward to it.

Then he glances out his front window and realizes that the army of paparazzi camping out in front of his house when Harry was discovered was absolutely minor  before. The group has easily tripled and now there are actually reporters and  video  cameras out there. Louis doesn’t know how to deal with this either, though he knows he’ll have to eventually. He takes the back route and praises God he was smart enough to park a few blocks away from his house last night.

As he drives, he flicks on the radio, and groans out loud as he hears Nick  Grimshaw's grating voice as he cackles with laughter at something.

He's never liked Nick. Nick was always really Harry's friend, and for awhile when things were bad, Lou liked to blame Nick for introducing Harry to the faster lifestyle that led to  a lot of his drinking.

It's taken a few years but Louis knows now that none of it was Nick's fault. He didn't know Harry was an alcoholic, and  when things went bad,  he certainly wasn't  the one  encouraging Harry to drink. Mostly Louis  ha s never liked Nick because he could be so open about who he was and flirt with Harry like it was the easiest, simplest thing in the world.

  
Louis doesn't actually think he's that jealous of a person, really--despite what everyone seems to think of him. Yeah, he likes what's his, likes making sure that what's his stays his, but the emotions that everyone seemed to believe were jealousy and possessiveness were actually more like envy. Everyone was able to be freer with Harry than he was, and to watch that, when he couldn't ever act the way  he  wanted, was sheer torture.

Despite this, Louis has never been Nick  Grimshaw's greatest fan and he considers turning on some music on his phone. There's some fancy thing that connects it to the computer system in the car, and it's all really beyond Louis, but it's made listening to music while he drives a hell of a lot easier.

Then Louis hears the voice of Nick's caller and everything goes red.

Harry is the caller. Harry has called into Nick's morning show.

It shouldn't hurt. It really, really shouldn't sting that Harry has seemingly resumed this friendship, and so easily too. There is no hesitation, no hurt, no anger in Nick's voice. He's just laughing at most of what Harry says, and making one innuendo after another. It's hardly unusual for Nick's show, but all of it just makes Louis so furious.

Harry shouldn't get to just come back after being gone for so long and start right back where he left off. He's hurt people. He's abandoned them, essentially. It's wrong for him to assume that he  can.

Louis realizes just how tightly he's gripping the steering wheel and tries to relax, tries to calm the anger racing through his veins. It doesn't really work.

He's just fucking resentful. And of all people, Nick  Grimshaw, again.

It's kind of embarrassing now that he thinks about it, Lou realizes. And probably also some kind of treatise on how nothing ever really changes. It's all the same things, just different patterns, different arrangements.

As Nick makes yet another lousy,  godawful joke about Harry and his newly public gayness, practically a come on veiled as lighthearted teasing, Louis has a sudden, really horrible thought.

Maybe now that Harry's single, he and Nick will finally hook up, the way everyone suspected they already had. Louis has to actually pull over on the side of the road and take about a dozen slow measured breaths because he feels another panic attack coming on.

He can't deal with watching Harry with anyone else. He definitely cannot deal if the anyone else is Nick  Grimshaw.

And Louis knows that if given even a sliver of opportunity, Nick will  leap at  a chance with Harry. Louis has known about Nick's little crush for years. Harry might have been a little oblivious, but Louis definitely knew and that the only thing that prevented Nick from acting on it was the fact Harry was in love with someone else.

Louis fumbles for his phone, dialing the first number he can find.

It's definitely pathetic but all he can get out when Niall answers is, "Fucking  Grimshaw."

"Lou, mate, what's going on?" Niall sounds concerned. Probably because Louis is literally gasping for breath over the phone.

"Harry. Nick," is all he can say, but Niall knows him well enough to understand what he's trying to say.

"Harry is not going to hook up with  Grimmy, Lou. Jesus. The boy is still in love with you," Niall says, as if this is totally fine, totally normal, totally not going to make Louis have a heart attack of monumental proportions.

"But," Louis manages to get out, before Niall just interrupts him again.

"Seriously. Harry's got better taste than that." He sounds serious and reproachful. And Louis is even further humiliated. Now Niall knows that he cares. That he will literally fall to pieces if Harry even talks to another man.

Maybe he is just as jealous as everyone always said he was.

It's rather an unpleasant revelation, altogether.

"What am I going to do, Niall?" Lou says, head dropping to the steering wheel. He beats his forehead against it several times.

"Honestly, I don't fucking know, mate." Niall sounds properly sympathetic but that doesn't even help.

"I can't let him back in. He doesn't deserve it. But where does he fit if he doesn't belong next to me?" Louis whispers.

Niall hums a little. "I felt the same way, when he first showed up. I thought, there's no fucking way he's getting that spot back. But that's just hanging onto anger, Lou. Harry's been through a lot. We've all been through a lot. Maybe it's time to forgive. Find a new spot, maybe."

Louis hates this answer. He can't possibly forgive Harry. Maybe the others could try, because they weren't the love of Harry's fucking life. Yeah they were his best mates, but that's  just  a little different. 

"I know you're  gonna say it's not the same," Niall continues, and Louis wants to hit something at how well he knows him, "but like Liam said yesterday. Love is love. Whether it's platonic, between us mates, or romantic, like it was with you two."

"I don't know. It seems a big thing to just forgive and forget." An understatement of the century, Louis thinks bitterly.

"I'm not talking about forgetting. I'm not even saying he goes back to his old place. I think we're all going to have to find a new place."

A new place. Louis ponders this for a minutes. "Like start again, almost?"

"Like start again," Niall agrees.

Nobody gives Niall enough credit, Louis realizes. He's like the greatest guy ever. Just nobody notes his bloody brilliance because he's so damn cute and energetic. But he really is brilliant. About so many things.

"That's what you're going to do, then," Louis states.

"Ahhhhhh, well, not sure what else to do," Niall confesses. "We're all feeling this out, I guess. Nobody knows what to do with him, Louis. You're not alone. But the guy's been through hell. You heard him yesterday. He wanted to get clean for us. For you. And he couldn't because he missed us so damn much."

Louis remembers. The words feel practically branded on his brain.

On his heart.

"We missed him too," Louis states quietly.

"We did." Niall pauses as if he's considering saying something but isn't sure if it's a good idea. Finally he continues. "But we don’t have to anymore."

Niall has a point.

Louis is just so used to missing Harry and being angry at him for the fact that he's missing him at all, but those feelings aren't really relevant anymore. Maybe the anger, for past transgressions. But Harry's right there. He's come back, and he's just waiting for them to figure out what to do with him.

"Do you think?" Louis' voice catches on the sudden emotion clogging his throat. "Do you think we would have ever talked to him again if he hadn't forced us to do this tour?"   


"No." Niall sounds absolutely certain. "But it would have been a great bloody shame. We should almost thank him, you know? It's the right thing to do. It feels right, to do this with you sorry lot again."

Louis cannot believe he's saying it, but he actually tells Niall that he agrees. Niall chuckles and tells him again to stop worrying about Nick  Grimshaw. "Harry's only ever seen you, mate. From the beginning."

It's  the same for Louis. From the very beginning, there's only ever been Harry for him.

But Louis is beginning to feel okay not knowing what to do with Harry. He's not alone. They're all figuring this out, and he decides to just believe that it'll work out somehow. Maybe he and Harry will never be the same again, but that's okay. He lived without him completely for five years. Any possible combination that has him in Louis' life at all has to be better than that.

Louis feels calm enough to drive and thanks Niall and hangs up. He isn't stupid enough to continuing listening to the radio, though, and switches  over to his phone , to Adele's new album.

It's kind of a miracle but he's only ten minutes late for his first meeting in  Doncaster and since he's the famous one (or used to be the famous one) nobody says a word, but he gets a few odd looks and that’s when Louis realizes, belatedly, that nothing will ever be the same again.

A number of the Rovers staff knew he was gay, and a great number of others probably suspected, but now he’s  gone and  confirmed the truth for the world.  If Harry hadn’t been so determined to do it and do it right, confessing not only his own sexuality, but the secret relationship they had for four years, Louis probably  never would have come out of the closet publicly. He would have just gone on living his life, leaving some to speculate,  others to wonder, and a very select few to know the real truth.

But now everyone knows the truth, and while it does feel like freedom and fresh air, he’s come down a little from his high of last night. Reality has set in. Some  people will never treat him the same again, now that they know the real story  of Louis Tomlinson.

He will have to learn to be okay with that. Just the way he’ll have to be okay with  the curious stares and the ridiculous number of paparazzi and cameras outside his house. He’s somehow made himself a public spectacle again even though  he swore that would never happen again. That’s really the downside of this whole reunion—but Louis is thinking objectively enough now that he sees the positives too.  He can see now that he’s missed  performing, missed the songs that are familiar to him as breathing. He’s missed the lads too, missed singing with them, goofing around with them.

He's missed Harry, too. So bloody much that in the middle of the meeting, Louis has to actively fight the compulsion to slide his phone under the table and text him. Nothing specific, nothing important even, just a quick little reminder that  _ I think about you all the time, still. Always. _

He resists the temptation, but it’s a close thing, and Louis has to admit to himself that at some point, he will probably lose the fight. 

Nobody on the Rovers staff actually mentions the interview, but Louis would have to be a lot denser to believe that they haven’t all watched it, or at least snippets of it. But he’s a little bit grateful that at least he has this, a sane kind of  oasis from the chaos that’s threatening to envelop the rest of his life.

The day passes quickly, one meeting after another, and it’s dusk when Louis drives into downtown  Doncaster to meet his family for dinner.

Fizzy and Lottie are in Manchester, still at  uni, and so it's just Jay and Dan and the  twins.

Lou had suggested one of their normal dinner spots in  Doncaster, and as he drives up, he realizes that he hadn’t thought it through at all. In the last five years, he’s gotten used to the fact that he was just a mostly washed up member of an old boy band, even if it was one of the most successful boy bands ever, and that nobody much care d about him anymore. 

All that has gone out of the window now. There are about ten  paps hanging around the entrance to the restaurant and Louis lets out a heavy sigh. He knew he was going to have to deal with this, but he was hoping to have a little more time to figure out how.

He’s so fucking out of practice at being famous.

He parks and the chaos that the normal parts of his life has been holding at bay for the day descends on him. The paparazzi swarm the car and Louis tries to breathe normally as he opens the door  and  a camera is shoved in his face.

The first question he hears is about Harry. Of course. “Lou, are you and Harry getting back together?”

He ignores that, and the next, and the next.  He remembers that if you gave any recognition of their presence, they’d never quit. So he mostly just elbows through the crowd and heads to the front door of the restaurant. Somehow management has  persuaded the animals that they aren’t allowed inside, but inside is still a madhouse. The place is packed and every single eye is on him. There are frowns and glares and smiles and Louis is suddenly so, so overwhelmed by the attention.

The manager appears at  his elbow and  Louis has  never been more grateful to see someone in his  whole life. Okay, maybe there’s one single person he’s more grateful to see, but it’s a close decision. “Mr. Tomlinson.  So good to see you again.  If you could follow me?”

He wants to apologize for the photographers and the chaos and the mess and his own general thoughtlessness, but then Louis remembers what something like this could do for a  business. He’s no longer certain that his name will garner good publicity, but it’s publicity all the same.

Louis follows the manager and sees that he’s set aside a table in the back area, mostly  separated from the rest of the crowd, so they can have some kind of privacy.  Jay is already there, and Dan and the kids, and he hugs them all, holding onto his mum the longest. “You okay, boo?” she whispers into his ear and he can only shrug in response. He’s not entirely sure what he is anymore.

“ We watched it, of course,” Jay says when they all manage to sit down and the waiter is pouring water. Her voice is so careful. “It was good. Harry was so honest.”

“That was the whole point,” Louis says, trying hard not to be defensive.  He can already see where this is going. It’s not like she isn’t on his side—but she’s seen what he’s like without Harry. She saw what he was like when he came home from the cancelled tour and stayed in his old room and didn’t leave it for practically a month. She was the one who had to call Liam and Zayn and with her help, coax him to go back to the house he’d shared with Harry. She’s seen maybe the worst of him without Harry, and  though that might earn Harry her condemnation, she has always believed they are stronger together than they are apart.

A long time ago, he was so grateful for that belief. It helped make surviving the impossible a little easier, to have her unconditional support. Now, it just makes everything harder. Because Jay will want to welcome Harry back with open arms and will want him to do the same.

“ He’s been through so much,  Lou,” she points out. “Even more, I think, than he said in the interview.”

“We all have, mum,” he retorts. “You know that.”

She clears her throat and he knows that while she may be changing the subject, it’s not dropped.

“Was anyone rude to you today?” she asks, so casually, and his heart feels like it just overflows with love for her. 

“No. A lot of paparazzi outside the house this morning. I had to take the back route.  Actually,  I’ve been  taking it since they spotted Harry a week ago.”

“It’s a big thing,” Dan adds in. “A big story.”

“Enormous,” Jay agrees. “Sometimes I think you forget just how famous you were, baby.”

Louis shrugs again.

Being famous brought a lot of great things to his life. Opportunities and money and the adoration of millions of fans. But it also brought shame and fear and anger.  He’s still not certain how to reconcile the two polar opposites.

Jay looks pointedly at him. He knows what she wants to know, and he doesn’t even know how to answer her. “And?”

“I don’t know. We’ve honestly barely spoken. I can barely even look at him.” That’s not entirely true, but Louis is certainly not going to confess to his mother how he doesn’t want to look at Harry, but he can’t seem to help it. Or how he can't stop dreaming about him either--hot, feverish dreams full of naked skin and passion and sweat and the overpowering scent  of sex in the air.

Dreams that feel more like memories than anything else.

"You should talk to him.”

“He knows how I feel, mum. There’s not much point to telling him.”

He gets the “look” as he calls it.  “Of course there is. Honestly, Lou. He was the most important person in your life. Your best friend. You can’t just ignore this.”

Ignoring this has worked out fairly well for the last five years, but  now that Harry is actually back,  things are different now, and even though Louis would really, really love to just keep ignoring it, he can’t anymore. But he also has to figure out what to say to Harry and that’s problematic.

“When I figure out what to say to him, I’ll say it,” Louis finally mumbles. It’s a big confession and Jay’s face just melts, tears pooling in her eyes.

“Oh, sweetie, I know. It’s a hard thing. An impossible thing, really.”

Jay knows him so well; she knows he’s not ready to talk about it, and having gotten the assurance that nobody was overtly cruel to him today and that he knows he needs to eventually clear the air with Harry, she drops the subject entirely, something Louis is very grateful for.

The rest of the dinner passes fairly normally, and it’s so nice to be able to laugh and tease with his family again. He doesn’t spend enough time with them—not nearly as much as he should. And Louis remembers so clearly what Liam said to him. That he shouldn’t be hiding himself away still.

Maybe he’s been hiding because all those raw, painful places inside of him never really healed, they only scabbed over, and he ’s been afraid to expose them to anyone, even the other lads and his family.

Louis dreads the moment the party breaks up and it’s time to leave. The manager comes over after he pays the check and asks if he’d like to leave out the back. A usually stellar idea that in this situation won’t work because  he’s parked near the front and the photographers will just mob him there. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head.

This time when he exits, there are just as many flashes and phones out inside the restaurant as there are outside. Louis knows if he checks twitter, there will be a cascade of mentions and updates regarding his location.  Which is exactly why he doesn’t check.

Damn it, he used to be so much better at flying under the radar. He’s not only out of practice, he’s out of his depth. Which reminds Lou of Harry shopping at Tesco, hoping he could get by unnoticed just by pulling a hood on. They’re both in so much a similar situation.

The mob is actually bigger, Louis notes with dismay as he opens the front door and is confronted by  about twenty paparazzi, all snapping photo after photo and jostling themselves and him, trying to get a placement for the best shot.

The questions are fast and furious, one after another, and Louis tries to zone out and focus only on getting through the crowd to the car. He actually misses security at this moment, even though this is by n o means as bad as it was, even when they first started out. Which makes Louis realize that it’s only going to get worse.

Finally he makes it to the car. The shouted questions are getting downright nasty now, and Lou knows they are desperate for a reaction. He continues to ignore them, but his blood actually feels like its boiling from trying to hold his temper in check.  Grimshaw’s insinuations this morning on the radio feel like  child’s play compared to the innuendos that Lou is listening to now.  Everything from whether Harry’s still on his knees to whether Louis misses having Harry’s cock on twenty four hour speed dial.

No.

Yes.

When Louis finally makes it into the car and shuts the door behind him, instantly locking it, his hands are actually trembling with the force it takes not to jump back out of the car and beat someone’s face  in.

When he finally makes it out of  Doncaster, it’s late and feels even later. Lou scrubs a hand over his face and  before he can second guess what he wants to do, connects his phone to the  bluetooth in the car  and dials the number he knows is Harry’s.

It’s going to be a long two hour drive home and Louis figures that he has at least two hours of questions to ask Harry. At least.

Harry picks up on the third ring, his voice sleepy and hesitant.

“Lou?” he asks like he just assumes it has to be someone else calling him from Louis’ phone. And it shouldn’t but it kind of makes Louis feel shitty and a tiny bit guilty.

“Yeah,” he says, “it’s me. I’m just driving back from Donny and thought I’d call you.”

Louis remembers how many times he’ s made this drive and how many times he ’s called Harry just like this. It’s literally more than he can even count. This whole sequence of events feels like massive déjà vu.

“Oh. Oh.” Harry sounds completely floored by this and Louis guesses he can’t really blame him. The only times they’ve spoken since Harry returned, he’s been either angry, panicked or downright confrontational.  And even though Harry said he was expecting it, it couldn’t have been easy to deal with it.

Louis knows Harry probably better than he knows himself. He knows Harry probably expected the anger and the hurt, but secretly, deep down, in that hopelessly sunny optimistic corner of his heart, hoped that he’d be welcomed back with open arms. With love. 

The strange thing is, even under the resentment and the anger, Louis does still feel love. He could be dead for a hundred years and probably still love Harry. It’s just the way it’s always  been and even through a five year separation, nothing has changed.

Louis swallows hard and tries to prepare himself for what he’s about to say. “I know I’ve been an asshole.”

“No, no,” Harry insists, “I deserved it. I should never have. . .I never should have left you that way. Not you. ” His voice is so hushed, so private, husky almost, and if Louis wasn’t driving, he’d shut his eyes and  let all the memories come screaming back, all those early morning conversations, buried under the blankets. The whispers and murmurs, the hundreds, no, the thousands of times, Harry told him he loved him. All in that same voice.

The pain flares but Louis keeps going. They have to figure something out. Some way to co-exist without destroying each other.

“I heard you this morning on  Grimmy’s show,”  Louis says then, and hates how  proprietary it comes out, and because he’s Harry and knows him so damn well, Lou is sure he can hear the jealousy.

He chuckles a little ruefully, and Louis knows he’s heard it. “ He’s pissed too, Lou.”

“Not that pissed,” Louis breathes out before he can stop himself.

“I would never. Never.” Harry certainly seems decided on this. “How could I?”

There’s a long, loaded silence. “There’s nothing to stop you,” Louis finally says, because it’s the fucking truth. They aren’t together anymore. There’s literally nothing holding Harry back. Yeah, it would kill Louis, but that isn’t Harry’s problem anymore. 

“I know, I know you and I are. . .we’re . . .” Harry is struggling, his voice catching, and Louis wants to cry. Harry can’t even say the words. He can’t actually vocalize the fact that they are over.

Louis remembers all too well the first time management sat them down and said they were going to have to set the record straight in an interview over their supposedly “platonic” relationship. He remembers Harry’s horrified expression and the way he’d stuttered,  literally unable to phrase anything that even vaguely resembled a denial.

He'd known it would be up to him, knew it even before management figured  out it was going to have to be Louis. And he  was willing to do it because he knew what vocalizing something like that might do to Harry and  he loved him so much and wanted to protect him from the assholes in the world. As it turns out, he did a fairly shitty job of protecting him.

Louis listens to the silence and knows Harry is getting himself and his thoughts together.

“I know you hate me. I know you can never forgive me. But I meant what I said. I love you now, I’ll love you  in a hundred years, a thousand.  Nothing, not you never wanting me again, or  Grimmy, for god’s sake, will ever change that.”

Louis can’t help the choked sob that emerges from his tight throat.  His fingers tighten impossibly on the steering wheel and thank god, the roads are pretty deserted, because otherwise he’s sure he would have caused an accident before now.

“This is what I mean. I don’t know what to do with you,” Louis says into the quiet after Harry’s confession.

“I know,” Harry says. He pauses. “You don’t have to. Not anytime soon.”

“I know some things. One thing, actually,” Louis offers and Harry just waits and it’s not like they can ever start where they left off, but Louis is discovering they kind of can.  They still fit together in all the same ways. Louis can feel they do, even if they haven’t tried them all yet. It's more about Louis not letting Harry close enough for them to fit back together. It's about preserving a safe distance. A sane distance.

“I know I’m glad you’re back,” Louis says finally.

Louis can practically hear the smile on Harry’s face. It’s one of those massive ones,  that takes up his whole face. He knows some fans called it his Lou smile, and Louis supposes that isn’t far from the truth.

This isn’t the same as saying it in the interview,  and Louis hopes that Harry understands that. “It was too hard without you,” he adds. “In every way.”

“It was hard without you, too,” Harry chokes out, and Louis remembers what he said in the interview, about trying to stay sober, but that missing him only caused him to fall back into old patterns.

“I never wanted you to do this alone. You shouldn’t have been alone.”

“I had to do it alone,” Harry insists. “I had to figure it out for me. You’ve always been so, so strong, and I leaned on that. I let your strength be mine and I had to find my own.”

Funny how  Louis has always believed that his own strength came from Harry, but he supposes he had to find some of his own these last five years too. Strength to pick himself up and keep moving even when he didn't want to.

“You found it then?” Louis hates that he 's jealous that Harry found some unknown well of strength that has nothing to do with him, which is ridiculous because if that strength helped Harry get sober, that is  an amazing thing he should support.

Basically, he’s still a pathetic mess when it comes to Harry.

“I found something,” Harry says carefully and Louis doesn’t question it because he’s afraid if they continue down this road, he’ll break down crying again.

“I’m proud of you,” is all he says and Louis should have known better because that’s what makes Harry lose it. He hears the choked sob and the sniffles and Lou’s knuckles on the steering wheel are bone white.

There’s another long silence, as Harry cries,  and the silence feels all too familiar. When  management started  separating them more and more, all they had was the phone and they’d text while  they were busy with others, but when they were finally alone, they’d spend hours on the phone. Sometimes they wouldn’t even talk, they’d just lay there, in their separate beds, and listen to each other breathing.

This feels a lot like those other times, because sometimes it would be too much, and Harry would cry into the pillow, especially if it had been a long separation.

Louis would feel so powerless in those moments and he does now, especially since  it’s his words that caused Harry to fall apart.

“Sorry,” Harry finally mumbles, voice thick with tears, “it’s only that I’ve been waiting for five years to hear you say that.”

Louis can’t help it; actually, the number of things he can’t really help when it comes to Harry is rather alarming. “Baby, I was always proud of you.” The lump is in the back of his throat grows.

"I know," Harry says softly. "But. . .I wasn’t proud of the way I acted for a long, long time.”

“ I just . . .I just. . . ” Louis isn’t sure he can even say it, but he steels himself and goes on. “I just wish you hadn’t left like that. Like you were leaving me.”

Harry’s voice is deep, so very deep.  “God, I didn’t want to. . I just had this stupid fucked up idea in my messed up head that if  I stayed, I’d ruin you, too. We fought so much and you were so hurt and desperate to save me and I knew you  couldn’t. I couldn’t keep doing that to you.”

Ice settles hard and cold into Louis’ chest.  Even Harry’s sweet words, words that are begging him to understand, to believe that he did it because he loved him too much, not because he didn’t love him enough, still don’t melt the ice in Lou’s heart. And suddenly Louis knows that if this conversation continues, he will keep trying to forgive, he will keep trying to make it okay, when it’ll never really be okay. And he panics.

His  voice comes out harsher than he means, but he supposes it’s better this way. Maybe then Harry can hate him too, and stop trying to  repair something  that's unfixable.

“Instead you left and  ruined me anyway.”

Harry goes totally quiet and Louis feels reckless and angry and even though he knows Harry’s spent the last few years hurting, he wants him to hurt more. Much, much more. “Did you really think that just showing back up would be so easy, then? That you could just pick up right where we left off? That I would forgive you? That I would still love you?” Louis doesn’t even recognize his own voice. It fees like  the nasty black anger inside him is infinite, that no matter how much he cries, how much he yells, how much he punishes Harry, it will never stop flowing out of him.

"I see," Harry says, and his own voice is wobbly and destroyed. “But you’re  still  glad I’m back.”

“I’m not such an asshole that I wish you were dead or dead drunk.” Louis thinks this is maybe solid reasoning, but there’s enough of a question in Harry’s words that Lou isn’t sure he truly believes him.

Louis tries to think of something worse to say, something that might actually convince  Harry to keep his distance. To stop trying to close the gap Louis is forcing between them. But nothing comes out of his mouth. It turns out the worst thing he could say he’s just said, and it seems that even after five years, Harry  believes there's a deep, hidden place in Louis' heart that still loves him.

And he would be right, Louis admits to himself, even if he hates that fact.

“I know how much I hurt you,” Harry says softly. “I don’t blame you for trying to hurt me back.”

It feels like ground glass in  Louis’ throat. He hates how horribly transparent he is.

“ But,” Harry continues, “you were right about one thing.  I’m glad I’m back too. "

Louis feels destroyed. He's trying to remember that this conversation was to ask questions, to get the two of them into a halfway decent place where they could stop trying to destroy each other.

It's then that he realizes it's going to take a long time. There are no easy solutions. There are no quick answers. There are going to be dozens of conversations like this one, and there are going to be times when Louis hangs up and pulls over and cries his eyes out again.

But there will eventually be times when they can maybe laugh and tease each other and it won't all end in tears.

It's hard to have hope right now, but Louis clings to it because if he doesn't, he'll fall right back into the black hole he's just dragged himself out of.

"I . . ." Louis stutters. "I'm sorry."

Harry gives a watery laugh. "Nobody ever said it would be easy, Lou. And I'm sorry too."

Louis takes a deep breath and is surprised that this has been a little bit cathartic after all. He's not that much better, it's such a small change that it barely feels noticeable, but it's enough. It's enough for a beginning.

"You looking forward to tomorrow?" he asks, deciding that maybe it's better they change the subject.

"Our first rehearsal in what, almost six years? Yeah, it's going to be a disaster," Harry observes.

"But maybe a fun one," Louis points out and Harry chuckles again.

"Don't say it," Louis interrupts before Harry can point out that only a few weeks ago he was proclaiming that he was never performing again. That almost feels like another Louis, a Louis who let himself live in fear. And he's done with that.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow then," Louis says.

"Night, Lou." Harry's voice is practically a caress, and after he hangs up, Louis wants to ring  him back and yell at him for daring to use that tone after all this time. Doesn't he know what it does to Louis?

But he doesn't end up calling him back. Because secretly it feels good. It feels right. It feels a bit like a soothing ointment on a fresh wound, and after so long tending to his own hurts, Louis isn't about to turn down a little of Harry's TLC, even if he knows better.

Half an hour later, he's letting himself in the back door, and practically crawling up the stairs, he's so physically and emotionally exhausted. 

He flips the bathroom light on and glances up in the mirror and to his own astonishment, he's smiling like he was this morning. He's still smiling. He's definitely going to take today as a win.   



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this is a bit late. I'm on crazy deadline with my next book and well, the boys are in America, in case you might have missed that.
> 
> Two things:
> 
> 1\. This chapter may feel a bit lighter than some of the others. I felt like we could really use a bit of levity. If this chapter still makes you cry, I apologize in advance :)
> 
> 2\. In honor of their opening song in my reunion tour: Stand Up - 1D

Harry is right.  Their first rehearsal is a complete disaster and Louis isn't even  surprised. One Direction hasn’t performed together in five years,  longer even than they were ever together, and even though they were never exactly the most in sync of boy bands, they’ve all grown apart so much that being even remotely on the same page is  a pipe dream.

It doesn’t help that in the interim years since their last (disastrous) tour, all their support staff have gone their separate ways, and nobody is interested in resuming their former positions. They’ve moved on with their lives and Louis is caught between wondering if he should be moving on with his or  if this reunion tour is actually one of the better ideas that Harry has ever had.

The worst loss is Paul. Louis can’t explain how he just assumed the tour manager would be Paul, but he did. Their tour manager has always been Paul. But of course, it makes sense because Paul’s name wasn’t mentioned in any meetings that he paid attention in, and he hasn’t seen him since the last tour broke up prematurely.

The new manager is named Bernard, and they’ve been introduced for about five minutes and already Louis doesn’t like the man. First off, his name is Bernard, so that’s a strike against him already.

When he introduced himself, Louis found himself glancing over at Harry to see if he was thinking the same thing he was—and of course, he was. “Bernard,” Harry pipes up, a wide smile on his face, “like Emma Thompson’s horrid son from  Love Actually.”

Zayn chuckles, and Louis valiantly tries to keep his own smile under wraps. He’s supposed to be keeping his distance from Harry.  Giggling over Harry’s comment like a fond boyfriend is not going to help the situation.

As it turns out, the sole individual who doesn’t at least crack a smile at Harry is Bernard himself. Louis frowns, because he can tell right away that giving them a tour manager who lacks a sense of humor is a really, really bad plan. Second strike.

They might be grownups now, but  deep down,  they’re still those pain in the ass teenagers. Going on tour is going to bring out all those tendencies all over again. Hell, just being together  in the same room again will probably bring them out.

The third strike is that he's a middle aged square, with a good paunch in the tummy and a sneer that won't quit. Louis thinks he's only maybe a handful years older than he is, but Bernard acts like he's a million times better and wiser than they are, and that just rubs Louis the wrong way.

Bernard pulls out a tablet and opens a document, frowning at it, as the five of them stand in front of him. They’re in a warehouse, the stage marked out on the floor in tape, and  Louis is already annoyed about Bernard instead of Paul, and then he asks where the band is and he’s told they aren’t rehearsing with the live band until the last few days of rehearsals.  Until then, they’re going to be using a backing track.  They all frown at this, but Niall is the one who actually speaks up.

“That’s not going to work for us ,” Niall says, and Louis thinks he’s actually being  reasonably nice about it. He could have said it was total bullshit because it is. They make real, actual music. They aren’t Britney fucking Spears in Las Vegas. They’ve never relied on a backing track, and they are definitely not about to start now.

“It’ll be fine,” Bernard says distractedly, not even bothering to glance up at Niall as he just casually shoots him down.

Louis glances over at Liam, whose frown is deepening. “I don’t think it will be, no,” Liam interjects. And again, Louis thinks he’s being even a hair too nice, even though he can hear that Li’s trotted out his “in charge” voice.

Bernard finally looks up from his tablet and Louis doesn’t think he imagines the roll of his eyes. Yeah, he thinks, this is definitely not going to work. Paul, even when they were young and so ridiculously stupid, never, ever patronized them.  He controlled them, yes, because he had to and that was his job. But he never forgot that essentially, he worked for them.

Bernard acts like they’re about a week past their expiration date and beginning to smell. Louis  is already fantasizing  about punching him in the face. And it’s only been about five minutes.

Not a great beginning, altogether.

“Listen,” Bernard finally huffs out, “I know you think you’re still big shots. But that day is long gone. If you’re lucky, you’ll sell out these dates, you’ll go and sing and nobody will give a shit what you actually sound like because this is all just nostalgia for them. You’re a memory from their past that makes them  feel  all warm and fuzzy inside.”

Louis is seriously considering transitioning from fantasies to reality when Harry speaks up.

“You listen,  Bernard,” Harry snaps, “it’s none of your damn business why our fans come to our shows. It is however, your business to make sure we can put on the best possible show for those fans.” He pauses. “We’ll tolerate the backing track, today only, because we sure as hell need the practice, but tomorrow, you will have the band here, and they will be playing for us for every rehearsal from here on out.”

It’s a pretty decent speech, as Harry’s speeches go, which means that it didn’t take him ten years to spit out all those words. But  Bernard narrows his eyes and  Louis thinks for a  heart wrenching moment that he’s about to gobble up Harry whole and spit him out, all chewed up, but then  Harry,  dear sweet Harry, who was the nicest, most  accommodating soul in the universe five years ago, gives him a  pointed  look that Louis actually recognizes.

It’s  pure,  vintage Tomlinson sass, and  Louis actually has to bite his lip so his face doesn’t split in two from the grin he can’t help.

Even better, it seems to shut up Bernard, at least temporarily. He changes the subject then, which is awesome, as far as Louis is concerned.

“Liam forwarded me your set list,” Bernard says, and Louis braces for the inevitable argument that’s to come. No doubt management hates their choices and Bernard, with  undisguised  glee in his tone, will tell them so. “We’ll start at the top.”

Bernard is apparently also their choreographer. Or he attempts to be their choreographer. Frankly the effort is just fucking awful, and as they’re walking through the first song, Louis stops the rehearsal.

“This isn’t going to work,” he announces. “No offense, Bernard, but you’re a shit choreographer.”

“I thought you didn’t do choreography,” Bernard practically sneers, and Louis is back to fantasizing about bloodying his noise.

“We don’t,”  Zayn inserts in clipped, annoyed tones. “But we can’t just go wherever on the stage.  We used to have a plan. A loose plan, yeah, but a plan.”

“I’ll just do it,” Louis says, because he knows  Zayn was about to volunteer him anyway.

They begin to work through the song again, and Louis thinks  again that ‘Stand Up’ was a really strong choice for the opener. It’s not one of their more popular songs, but it’s fun and he thinks that’s kind of what they’re going for here.

Bernard mostly stands to the side and sneers and makes notes on his damned tablet, but he seems to be okay letting them work things out for themselves. Louis hates having to actually talk to the man, but he can’t avoid consulting him a handful of times. The first time Lou has to  ask a question about the specific layout of the stage and  some of the effects, Bernard is hands down a real asshole.

“Didn’t you get a copy of  the layout?” Bernard asks, all creamy innocence and Louis is beginning to realize that punching Bernard is probably not a matter of if, but when.

“I did, yes,” Louis grinds out, “but I only glanced at it. I didn’t exactly memorize the damn thing.”

Suddenly Harry is right there, at Louis’ elbow, and Lou is not stupid enough to not know the reason why. Harry  knows what this expression of Louis’  means and no doubt is here to intercede if things get ugly.

“You’ll learn that Lou tunes out most instructions and emails and schedules,” Harry explains, smiling beatifically at Louis, as if this is the greatest trait in the entire universe.  Louis nudges Harry’s foot with his before he even realizes what he’s doing. Harry needs to fucking turn down the fond. He’s  fonding all over the place, all over his ex-boyfriend and unfortunately Louis loves it more than he hates it, though he knows it should definitely be the other way around.

“Thanks Harry,” Louis says sarcastically. “So kind of you to point that out to Bernard here.” Louis has already come up with his own way of saying Bernard’s name, grinding it out and elongating the syllables that he can just tell drives the man up the wall. Louis  wonders if he can actually make him quit before the tour even gets started. He’s just getting going, really, but he does like a good challenge. And he can  already  tell the other lads will be fully on board this particular plan.

“Nothing I didn’t already know. Management had quite a lot to say on the subject of Mr. Tomlinson here,” Bernard says, way too satisfied at being able to admit this, but what he doesn’t know is that Lou actually takes quite a bit of pride in his horrible reputation with Modest. He made their lives a living hell, but as far as he’s concerned, he only doled out what he was already taking. It was a matter of personal pride that if they were going to try to make him feel shame for who he was, and for who he loved, then he was going to do his level best to humiliate them as much as he could.

“Louis.” Louis just grins. “After all, I’m hardly a big shot anymore.”

The  smug expression on Bernard’s face just falls right off and Louis can’t help but give him his sassiest smile in return. “Now,” he continues, pointing to two sections of the stage marked out on the floor, “tell me again about these ramps here.”

After they work out the logistics of the opening number, they decide to take a break. Louis props himself up against a wall and pulls his phone out of his  trackies, quickly scrolling through email and messages. There’s nothing pressing and he hesitates with a finger over his twitter icon.  He hasn’t been on twitter since he came out. Maybe today is a good day to finally tackle that particular mountain. Or maybe he should start slow. Maybe he should actually tweet something first. During the last five years, he’s been an increasingly infrequent twitter correspondent, mainly using it for publicity for the Rovers. But now that the tour is starting up again,  maybe it’s time to change that.

He snaps a quick pic, making sure to pick up the rest of the lads in the background, and posts it with a simple caption of “first day of rehearsals.”

Niall wanders over drops down to the floor beside him, handing him a bottle of water. “Harry just told me he talked to you last night. That you actually called him.”

Louis shrugs. He’s not sure how he feels about Harry confiding in the other guys about the shit they’re wading through, about the  broken relationship they don’t know how to deal with. But then, their  personal  business has always extended to the others anyway. When you’re in  such close quarters that your relationship affects everyone else, it makes sense to give a heads up about what's going down.

And really, it’s stupid, but Louis is kind of glad that Harry has someone to talk to, even if it’s Niall. Especially if it’s Niall, actually.

“ Not going to tell me,  Tommo?” Niall gives him a quick grin.

“There’s not much to tell, actually,” Louis admits slowly. “I still don’t know how to deal with him. We start circling closer, then suddenly it feels too close, too fast. And I freak out because I’m still such a fucking wreck about him leaving me.”

“You know, he’s kind of a wreck about leaving you, too. He  really hates himself for it.”

“Well he should,” Louis retorts.

They’re both silent for a minute, Louis mindlessly scanning his phone, Niall taking a drink of water from his own bottle. “You know,” Niall finally says, “it doesn’t seem fair that the people really to blame for your relationship falling apart aren’t the ones here suffering. Instead, it’s you and  Haz. The only thing you did was  fall in love.”

Louis sets his phone down, and looks out over the warehouse. Liam is on  the phone, in the corner, and from the tense expression on his face, he supposes it’s either Sophia or about Sophia.  Zayn is on his phone too, in the opposite corner, but his face is  relaxed, and Louis  guesses he must be talking to  Perrie.  Harry is lying on his back in the center of the room, right on the center of where the stage would be, hands crossed over his stomach and his eyes are closed. Louis wonders if he’s sleeping or maybe he’s visualizing what it’ll be like, to climb back on the stage and perform for thousands of people again.

“We all suffered, Niall,” Louis says softly. “None of us had it easy.”

“But none of us had it as hard as you and Harry,” Niall insists. “It’s just not fair.”

It isn’t fair; it never was. But Louis has seemingly made his peace with that particular fact. “Life isn’t fair,” he just says in response. There’s no way to truly punish Modest for what they did. He can’t take away their lives or ruin their relationships. He’s done everything he can—which is expose their lies as publicly as possible. After that, it’s unfortunately out of his hands.

“ You know,” Niall says speculatively, “they would really, really hate it if you and Harry ever got back together.”

“Niall,” Louis says in warning. “Don’t.”

“Seriously. That would make them absolutely  batshit crazy. If you two were able to finally love all over each other the way you always wanted to. They would  just about die.”

“Niall,” Louis bites out. “It’s over. It’s  one hundred percent over.”

Niall throws up his arms in mock protest. “Okay, fine, fine. I was just saying, that’s all.”

“Well stop saying,” Louis insists. And stop fucking tempting me, he thinks.

\-------

They sing after the break.  They  re-divide up the  lyrics  of the first song, working with the new blocking that Louis arranged, and the first time Louis hears them singing together again, it sounds pretty  godawful, but it chokes him up anyway. 

“That sounded like utter shit,” Liam says before Bernard can even open his mouth. “Jesus, we have a lot of work to do.”

“I thought it was nice,” Harry  argues, a beatific expression on his face, and Louis has to forcibly turn his head away. He is so beautiful sometimes it’s nearly painful to look at him. Or maybe just to Louis. Harry doesn’t seem to blind anyone else but Louis.

“Zayn came in wrong again,” Louis points out because if Harry vocalizes the happiness he feels about singing together again, he will probably cry and that way lies disaster.

“Well, it’s not like you remembered the words,”  Zayn retorts.

“Five years,” Louis reminds him. " But at least I kept the tune."

It takes them five exhausting hours to get the opening song up to some kind of par.

"I don't remember this being so fucking hard," Niall says, from his position on the floor. He doesn't even open his eyes to glance over at Louis, whose legs are splayed out, nearly touching his.

"It wasn't," Liam sighs. "We're. . .well, we're a wreck."

" Heeeeey," Harry says, dragging out the syllables and to Louis, it feels like he's been hearing Harry say it like that for his entire life, even though it was only four years. Only four years. That's a pretty small drop in the bucket compared to the rest of his life, but somehow, those four years loom larger than all the rest. Louis is way too tired to try to examine what any of this means.

But if he did, he'd probably think it was because those were the four happiest years of his life. Even when things were shit and falling apart, he was still fundamentally  happy.  Louis shifts and reminds himself  that he's too tired to be thinking of this right now.

"We're going to need to add more rehearsals," Bernard says.

"Fuck you, Bernard," Louis says from his prone position on the floor.

It's a testament to the last five hours that Bernard doesn't even blink at this.

If Louis had the energy to open his eyes and look over at their new tour manager, he's certain Bernard would look like he'd just been through a war.

World War One Direction.

"I'll send out a revised schedule," Bernard adds. "If it takes us a whole day to get through  one  song . . ."

Louis thinks maybe that Bernard is actually depressed enough that he can't even add the insulting end of that sentence; they are  never  going to be ready for this tour.

\-----

The second day is even worse than the first. Everyone is tired and silently freaking out, and Louis can see how tense it makes the guys. Bernard, who'd let them mostly muck about on their own the first day, has apparently had some sort of Come to Jesus moment, and is now riding them harder than Louis used to ride Harry.

Shit, Louis thinks, as he automatically glances over at Harry  and has to cycle through his standard boner-reducing images when he sees Harry's t-shirt riding up, exposing just a sliver of pale skin above the waistband of his jeans.

It's like a fucking centimeter of skin, which is ridiculous because he spent four years getting a panoramic view of naked Harry, but it affects him so strongly, he stumbles over his own feet, and then his words as he tries to sing the chorus of 'Tell Me a Lie.'

Liam glances over, clearly concerned because Louis is not the one who typically trips over his own two feet. "You okay?" he mouths. He's the only one really  who's  even attempting to follow Bernard's "no talking during rehearsal" edict.

"Fine," Louis grinds out, glaring over at Harry's back. It's all his fault, really. Couldn't all the booze have made him fat and ugly? Did he have to come back so fucking fit and toned? Not that Louis has been looking necessarily, but well, it's hard  not  to see the shape of his legs and the way the sleeves of his t-shirts cling to his biceps. It's fucking distracting.

"Need a minute, Tommo?" Niall chimes in, and from the way he grins, ear-to-ear, Louis knows he not only saw him trip but where Lou was looking right before it happened.

He flushes, embarrassed that he's so fucking obvious.

And then it gets even worse. "You need some  alone time with your boyfriend?" Bernard sidles over, sneering the whole way, and Louis clenches his fists together because he has never wanted to punch anyone as much as he does Bernard right now.

"Lou?" Harry is there now, curls tied back in a red head scarf, looking innocently  angelic and insanely, dirty  hot all at the same time, and Louis squeezes his eyes shut, rapidly losing the grip on his temper and on his dick.

"Bernie," Niall hisses into the silence, "they  broke up. Like five years ago. Get with the fucking program."

"Actually," Harry inserts hesitantly, "that's not exactly true."

Louis' eyes open almost of their own accord, he's so surprised. He's just gaping at Harry as he continues, a fairly lovely flush on his cheeks. "We never actually  broke  up," Harry says.

Lou doesn't even know what to say. He's literally speechless.

"You don't. . .you don't. . ." Liam struggles with the right words. "You don't actually think you're still  together?"

Harry's gaze is way too frank for Louis' comfort. Really this whole conversation is way too frank, and definitely it should not be happening with the other guys present--and definitely  never  with Bernard standing right there.

"No," Harry says sadly and Louis feels himself let out the breath he was holding. Harry has always been a right sap, but that would be pretty crazy, even for him. 

"Now that we've settled  that," Bernard interrupts, "can we get on with the rehearsal please?"   


"I need a break," Louis announces, mostly because he's still half-hard in his gym shorts and partially because he can tell that Harry needs comfort of some kind. Actually admitting they're not together out loud was probably hard for him--even a few nights ago, he struggled to do it. And now he's just had to do it publicly, and in front of Bernard, officially everyone's least favorite person.

Louis won't be the one personally doing the comforting, but there's three other lads that will do the job nicely, so he merely sits down on the floor and refuses to continue until he has at least a ten minute break.

Bernard is grumbling and glaring, but Louis just holds his ground. "I'm not moving," he says, shooting Niall a quick glance that hopefully communicates what needs done. Niall's one of the best friends anyone could have, sometimes even annoyingly aware of every emotional undercurrent in a conversation, and he's already picked up what Louis hasn't said out loud.

Harry has ended up on far side of the warehouse, and Louis smiles a little as Niall wanders over behind him, as if he just  accidentally headed that direction.

"You're a menace," Liam mutters, and Louis just smirks.

"Don't think I didn't notice that situation you had going on either," Liam continues. "You're not as smooth as you think you are, Tommo."

Louis just shrugs. He's never pretended to be anything other than the enormous idiot he's always been. "That's not going to be a . . .an issue?" Liam presses on, and Louis has to give him a bit of credit for keeping this going. But only a little because he's also using terms like "situation" and "issue."

"You mean my hard dick?" Louis just says it, all nonchalantly, and kind of loudly too, and he's not far enough away that he could possibly miss Harry's head whip around their direction, even though he's currently in what appears to be a fairly earnest conversation with Niall.

That's definitely the Harry that Louis knows--and loves. A dick could always get his undivided attention.

"God, Lou," Liam groans.

"You're literally still sixteen sometimes," Louis says with a snort. "I mean, you  look  normal, then there's all this bullshit about situations and issues."

"You're hardly one to talk," Liam retorts, rolling his eyes.

"That's ten," Bernard announces, and Louis groans loudly. And okay, maybe that's a little sexual too, mostly because he's practically around Harry 24/7 now, and he'd be lying if there's not a fair amount of sexual tension in the air and it's beginning to get to him.

The dreams are grinding him to an edge, and what they don't accomplish, the rehearsals are doing beautifully. If Louis has to watch Harry shake that skinny ass for another minute he is literally going to have to go to the loo and have a nice, solitary  wank.

"There is no way that was ten minutes," Niall scoffs.

But Bernard is annoyingly inflexible, which Louis resents because  he's  supposed to be the stubborn one. It's practically engraved on his bum. Bernard claps twice, sharply, and Louis vaguely considers barking like a dog in response.

"From the top again," Bernard says, and from his position on the floor, Louis can hear the band take up their instruments. At least Bernard was good for his word on that--it's not the same guys as before, and that sucks almost as much as not having  Pauly back, but they seem competent enough, if not dazzlingly familiar with their back catalog, which is really to be expected.

It's not like many musicians who can play their instruments worth a shit are going to be spending their free time learning One Direction songs.

Still, if they play a few discordant notes, it's still much less discordant than the boys'  singing has become over the years. They sound fine individually, but together, they're no longer in each other's pockets, familiar with even the way the others breathe. It's a struggle to remember how to co-exist like this again, and Louis doesn't like it. He just wants to wake up one day and be part of One Direction and not just Louis Tomlinson, that sad sack of a football club owner who's best years are behind him.

"Louis," Bernard barks.

Louis hears footsteps and finally  opens his eyes, expecting to see Bernard's ugly ass face leaning too close to his. But it's not Bernard's narrow, beady eyes or his fat chipmunk cheeks. These eyes are glowing green with amusement and there's a dimple hovering too close to lips that Louis sees in the dreams he pretends are nightmares.

"Lou, come on," Harry says, and Louis is glad the smile is back on his face, but at the same time, he regrets sending Niall over to cheer him up. Happy Harry is way too fit for Louis' current frame of mind, which is about five years empty of decent shags.

"God, H," Louis grumbles, and ignores the hand Harry extends to help him up. if he touches Harry now, he will want to touch him all over, and that's not going to be getting them anywhere anytime  soon.

Liam's already warned him today, and if that's obvious enough for him to spot it, Louis knows he's in a bad way. He's going to have to figure out a way to deal with this side of Harry too, and since he's yet to figure out how to deal with any of the sides of Harry now that he's back, that's a slight problem.

"Are you finally  ready, Tomlinson?" Bernard smirks.

"No," Louis retorts. "Not even close."

"That's the understatement of the century," Bernard chortles and Louis rolls his eyes as the song begins again.   



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this has taken forever. I had two crazy real life writing deadlines. But everything is done (well, it's turned in, done is maybe not quite accurate) and I have more time to devote to this story. YAY! I've also signed up for the winter fic exchange, and I'm super excited for that. I got some great prompts :)
> 
> Two things:
> 
> 1\. "Tired of Giving Up" Ryan Adams
> 
> 2\. I have a tumblr now! bethaboolou.tumblr.com

 

Tickets for the tour go on sale a few days later. They have a rare day off from rehearsals--it's a Sunday, but even then Louis is sort of surprised that Bernard d oesn't force the five of them to show up to the warehouse anyway.

He's sitting on the couch, the TV is on, and frankly, he's fucking exhausted. He can't remember the last time he worked this hard, which is hilarious because he knows at the height of their popularity, they did more in one day than they've done in the last week. But the truth is that they're older now, out of practice, and in his case, out of shape. It's almost embarrassing.

Louis has no intention of leaving the couch all day. He also has no intention of spending any of this precious day off thinking and/or worrying about the tour or rehearsals or anything to do with either of them. He's shut his phone off and doesn't even want to hear about ticket sales until tomorrow morning. At which point,  Bernard will look down his  godawful beaky nose at them and pronounce in that patronizing tone of his that makes Louis want to punch him over and over again that it was inevitable that no self-respecting  music fan would be caught dead seeing the five of them on stage again.

Bernard. Louis really hates how much he keeps wasting his time off stewing about how much he has come to loathe Bernard. At first Bernard had his amusing moments, but Louis is rapidly losing his sense of humor and his patience. Not that he ever had much of the latter to begin with--but Bernard's cracks about his ex-boyfriend are not helping at all. And frankly,  the very same ex-boyfriend is n't exactly helping  either. Just yesterday,  Harry decided to fucking waltz around the rehearsal space wearing no more than a pair of tiny workout shorts that Louis spent much of the day imagining removing with his teeth.

The sexual frustration is getting to him, okay? That's to be expected,  Louis reassures himself. Harry has always been this disturbing mix of sexy and precious that has never been good for his sanity and now that he can only look and n ever touch, it's about a million times worse.

And that's not even taking into account that  Louis has been celibate for five years.

Basically, Louis decides, as he stuffs crisps into his mouth and fucks his diet all to hell, he could probably handle Bernard or Harry, but the two of them together are going to make a strait jacket more a reality than a nightmare.

What he needs to do is something to alleviate some of this damn pressure but he just doesn’t know what that something is.

It hits Louis in the next moment. He's got some sort of horrible American reality show on his TV,  Impractical Jokers , he thinks it's called, but he's not really watching until the shenanigans on the screen catch his attention and he realizes that there is very much something he can do about his problem.

He can't get rid of Harry.  Not that he'd even really want to , but  after coming out, Harry is apparently at the root of some real life grass roots LGBT movements (as is Louis himself,  through  he's not done much to encourage it, not like Harry has )  and so suddenly,  Harry is Important again.

But Bernard. Bernard is a different story. He can be easily replaced. So, so easily.

Louis wipes his greasy fingers on his sweatpants and reaches for his iPad. He's got some research to do.

As it turns out, pranking someone when you are not in living with or near them or sharing an office with them is trickier than Louis ever thought it could be.

He's been maniacally scrolling through list after list of good pranks but none of them seem exactly right. He's saved a few, but he needs something really choice, something absolutely one hundred percent nasty,  that is guaranteed to send Bernard into a screaming hissy fit.

It's  way past midnight and Louis has to be up by seven to get to rehearsal on time and he still hasn't found anything good and he's beginning to panic a little. He's become increasingly attached to the idea of one monumentally epic prank that will scare Bernard away permanently. Louis knows that this idea is attractive mostly because that would mean tomorrow would be the very last time he ' d ever have to see Bernard--but he 's also beginning to realize that while the short term fantasy is so attractive, it's the long game he's going to have to aim for.

Make Bernard crazy with a bunch of small, annoying pranks. Build him up until he's a shaking, nervous wreck.

Louis indulges in a mild daydream of Bernard snapping one day and having a total meltdown and the image is fulfilling enough that he makes the decision.

He is going to drive Bernard out of his fucking mind.

\-----

The next morning, Louis is almost late to rehearsal because he slept in and because he's had yet another dream.

He would actually be pretty  pissy , but he's too excited about Stage 1 of the Drive Bernard  Batshit Crazy Plan to sulk about  the fact that he can (mostly) block Harry from his waking thoughts,  but  he can't seem to drive him out of his dreams.

It's annoying as fuck, actually, but Louis tells himself that he can be strong. He stays strong in the shower (which is horrid and so, so cold) and doesn't even let himself  wank to the fever hot images of the dream that  are still burned into his eyelids . Instead he focuses on the way Bernard's face will look when Louis unleashes the first prank.

It isn't the same.

"You're late," Bernard says coldly when Louis finally walks into the warehouse. He's only seven minutes behind schedule, which really isn't so awful. He glances around and isn't surprised to see that he's still beat Zayn here. Zayn's general lateness has not been improved by adding a wife and child to the mix.

Louis doesn't even look at Bernard and he definitely doesn't deign to acknowledge that particular comment. Bernard just rolls his eyes and marches over to the corner to no doubt  call  Zayn and take his frustrations with Louis  out  on him instead.

This gives Louis the perfect opportunity to oh so casually sidle over to the side table that holds an electric kettle and tea fixings. Bernard's  usual  cup is sitting invitingly near the edge and Louis only needs a moment to slip his hand into his pocket and withdraw the item he prepped the night before.

It's over in a second, and then Louis moves onto fixing his own tea, his most innocent expression fixed to his face.

When he turns back to the open floor of the warehouse, he sees that Bernard is still barking on the phone. On the other end,  Niall and Harry are talking  softly and seriously. Harry's got on a lavender  beanie, a few wispy curls peeking out near his ears, and Louis wants to scrub his mind of the image.

There's no saying what his deluded brain will do with it  to night.

Liam approaches Louis. "Hey Li," Louis greets him and doesn't like the dark circles he sees under his friend's eyes. "You okay?"

"Not sleeping  very  well," Liam admits.

Louis is almost tempted to confess his own nocturnal issues but it's embarrassing enough that they can all see how  Louis still follows Harry with his eyes, wanting him despite everything. Liam doesn't need to know just how much Louis' dick controls him when he falls asleep.

"It'll get better," Louis says as cheerfully as he's able this early in the morning. Even though if his own situation is any yardstick to measure by, things definitely do not get better. Here he is, five years down the line, and he still loves and hates Harry in perfectly equal measures.

But Liam doesn't need to hear that. Liam will be better than Louis. Louis needs to believe that or else he is probably going to go into the bathroom and either try not to cry or finally  have a much-needed  wank .

Liam doesn't look very convinced. "Okay, Lou. Yeah. Totally," Liam says and shoots him a slightly frustrated look.

"Seriously," Louis yelps in his own defense.

"Yeah, okay. Because  five years later, you're not still staring at Harry. We definitely don't spend every single rehearsal trying to get your attention."

Louis frowns. Apparently he has not gained any subtlety in the last five years. Good to know.

"Though," Liam continues, "it's not like Harry is any better, really."

Louis grips his mug of tea and refuses to react to Liam's bait. Liam didn't come out and say it  as bluntly as Niall, but Louis knows what Liam is trying to say. It's the same thing that everyone who knew them and a whole legion of their fans always believed: he and Harry have a once-in-a-lifetime love, a love that can't be covered up or subdued or stopped. It was supposed to be a love without end.

Louis feels the all-too-familiar anger rise inside him again. Because  his life hasn't turned out the way it was supposed to.  His life was supposed to be amazing and transcendent and insanely fucking happy, and instead all he has is bitterness and pain and five years without Harry.

He hates cursing fate and whining that it just isn't fair, but really, it isn't fucking fair.

Louis can't help it; his eyes just flick right over to where Harry is sitting, and of course, of fucking course, Harry is staring at him, intense adoration written all over his features.

The desire to lock himself in the bathroom is rising, but naturally, that's the moment Bernard hangs up and a moment later, Zayn walks into the warehouse.

"Let's get started," Bernard announces in that superior, awful voice of his. Louis grits his teeth.

Slowly, the five of them drift towards Bernard. Louis is barely paying attention, mostly because it's Bernard, but even more because he's still stewing over Liam and Niall and how everyone seems to think him and Harry getting back together is just plain inevitable.

As far as Louis is concerned,  he and Harry are over, done. Kaput. He is never revisiting that again, because he'll never trust again that Harry won't just run. Louis barely made it through the last five years. If he lets Harry back in, and Harry bolts some time down the road, Louis knows he won't make it.

"Early ticket sales are in," Bernard says, and Louis tunes back in. He is vaguely interested (okay, really interested, if he's being 100% honest with himself) in how well the dates have sold. "About three quarters sold at most venues. Some  better than others."

Louis lets out a tiny sigh of relief--they aren't as obscure and unimportant as he feared. And yeah, maybe most of those people are coming for a nostalgic experience and maybe some of them are coming because now they know he and Harry are gay and used to be together and they're curious--but they're coming. And that's what matters. 

Bernard looks like he just swallowed a lemon and Louis is further reminded how much he hates the man. Clearly, Bernard was really looking forward to delivering some shit news and it just about kills him to have to say the opposite.

"That's great, lads," Liam says and he genuinely sounds happy about it.  Niall does a cute little cheer. Louis glances over at Harry and is unsurprised and dismayed to find that he's still staring at Louis. As if Louis' reaction is the only reaction that matters.

Louis lets his eyes rest on him for a split second, then he turns his attention back to Bernard.

Bernard chooses this moment to lift his mug to his lips to take a sip of tea.

On the bottom of his mug, clear as day, it states "TWAT."

It all comes back to Louis in a flash. He's let his moodiness over Harry almost completely derail his Drive Bernard  Batshit Crazy Plan, when the whole point was to get rid of Bernard so that Louis wouldn't have to deal with both of them.

Liam lets out a choked laugh. Niall's laughing so hard  he's nearly bent at the waist . Even Zayn is smiling. And Harry--sweet, precious Harry--is actually giggling.

Bernard looks blankly at the five of them. "What the hell is going on with you lot ? " he snaps out.

Louis keeps his expression blank. Innocent, hopefully. Not too smug, he reminds himself over and over again, even though he wants to crow to the world about how fucking hilarious it is to call Bernard a twat and him not even realize it.

"Nothing at all," Louis observes in his most creamy voice. "Absolutely nothing. Just pleased over the tour, I'm sure."

Bernard isn't the brightest bulb in the universe, so it takes him approximately three hours to realize that whenever he takes a drink of his tea, the five of them explode into laughter. When he finally discovers the label that Louis so surreptitiously stuck to the bottom of his mug, Bernard turns bright, bright red and shakes a threatening--or so he thinks, Louis observes wryly--fist at the entire group. It only makes the five of them laugh harder and longer.

There is one  symptom of the prank that Louis doesn't anticipate: for one glorious, nearly perfect morning,  the five of them stop feeling  like  totally separate individuals and Louis can feel the stirrings of the closeness that, for him, used to define One Direction.

After laughing for the third or fourth time over Bernard's mug, they sing better together. They move better together. Louis finds himself searching out the other lads and exchanging knowing looks and having silent conversations. To his own utter surprise, he can still decipher every look that passes across their faces. He hasn't forgotten, Louis realizes, he just hasn't been looking. And having one singular thing to connect them--in this particular case, ridiculing the shit out of Bernard--they've kind of found each other again.

Of course, after Bernard discovers the label and goes off on his little "immature children" rant, some of the closeness disappears. The feeling like they're all in on one big secret evaporates, but the residual remains and the afternoon's rehearsals are some of the best they've had. They actually sound decent together for maybe the first time since they started singing again.

Once or twice, Louis  is even able to glance over at Harry, find him looking back, and give him the tentative beginnings of a smile. Not a flirty smile or a loving smile, but a friendly smile. A smile that says to Harry, "we both know a secret." It makes Louis' throat tighten, but his heart relax . He wants to cry and laugh  at the same damn time.

So it doesn't really surprise him that after rehearsal is over and they're all going their separate ways, Louis hears Harry's distinctive footsteps behind him as he walks to his car.

"Hey, Lou," Harry calls out breathlessly. "Wait up."

Louis wants to keep walking. He wants to keep walking and not turn around and not face Harry right now. But today was a good day, one of the better ones, and it would ruin everything they built today to ignore Harry.

Besides, he really doesn't want to and since Louis' is  the worst at denying himself anything he wants, he stops and turns to face Harry.

The joy and relief on Harry's face that Louis actually stopped and waited for him are painful. Louis can't even look directly at him; when Harry radiates that much happiness,  it's like staring right into the sun.

"Louis," Harry says breathlessly. "That was so great today."

Louis doesn't want to be pleased that Harry thought so. He is anyway.

"Funniest thing I've seen in ages," Harry continues. "Was it like a spur of the moment thing or. . .?"

Niall had asked him the same thing.  Zayn's already told him the prank was sick.  No doubt Louis will also get a very wordy email from Liam tonight explaining that it's inappropriate to prank the help.  But it's Harry's gushing awe that feels the sweetest.

Louis also hadn't told the others that he intends to continue pranking Bernard until he literally blows up like a volcano. He feels like it might  ruin the surprise of each successive prank. He doesn't want anyone to expect them too much. But right now, in the growing dusk, while Louis and Harry are alone on the street, it somehow feels right to  confide in someone.

If Louis is being really, horribly honest with himself, it feels right to confide in Harry.

"I thought of it last night," Louis confesses. "And I have a lot more planned."

Harry's face lights up even more. "I love it," he practically gushes. He hesitates. "Could I. . . .could I maybe help with one?" The happiness falls a little from his face, as if he knows from the moment he ask s that he'll be rejected. Before Harry left him, Louis can't even remember a time when he told Harry no, but now, no is all he feels he can say. It feels far too dangerous to ever say yes.

Which is, of course, why he fucking tells Harry yes. "Sure," Louis says casually, as if it's not a big deal, when in fact it is a Big Deal, in  capital fucking letters.

"Really?" Harry seems shocked by this but Louis only nods. Stupidly.

"What else do you have planned?" Harry asks. "Anything I could help with specifically?"

Louis already spent the last few hours of rehearsal mentally sorting through his saved list of pranks in his head, but he hadn't actually decided on the next one he was going to do. A few of them that seemed really good have parts that while not his forte, are absolutely Harry's. Louis tells himself that those pranks are too good to leave off simply because he doesn't have the necessarily skill set.

He's really a terrible liar. Even to himself.

"Yeah, actually," Louis says, scratching his neck and glancing shyly over at Harry, who's so eager he's practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. "There's one with a fake cake that you could definitely help with."

Harry is sold from the moment Louis mentions a cake. He really should have remembered how much baked goods turn Harry on, but it's too late once the words leave his mouth. Louis  is pretty much  screwed.

Which is why an hour later, Harry is back in the  house they used to share, with not even a single other person to buffer them. They're in the kitchen and  Louis is carving a gigantic piece of foam while Harry works the mixer and creates some sort of icing that might actually make a sponge taste good.

"It's awfully lopsided," Louis says with a hopeless sigh, leaning back and examining the pseudo-cake from several angles. 

Harry's glance is so fond as he takes in Louis' frown and the rough round shape that Louis has been chiseling the sponge into. "You supposedly baked it. I don't think anybody will be surprised that it's a bit crooked."

"It's hard work," Louis whines. "Nobody ever told me that carving foam with a knife would be so difficult."

Harry chuckles and Louis looks back at his masterpiece. He keeps expecting it to be weird between them. Unfortunately the only way it seems weird is that it absolutely hasn't been weird once. Not when Harry walked into the foyer, not when he toed his boots off in exactly the same spot he used to, not when he walked into the kitchen like he owned it and opened the fridge like Louis has seen him do a thousand times before.

It actually feels like five years before, and Louis decides that maybe the strong sense of déjà vu has him under some sort of spell. Maybe the weirdness and his inevitable panic will set in when the numbness fades.

  
But he doesn't feel numb. He feels happy, almost. It feels nice to be in this kitchen, in this house, and to not be alone. Louis  is reminded rather forcefully that this house was never meant to be one person's domain. It was always meant to be shared.

It was always meant to be shared with Harry.

"If I baked it though," Louis suddenly wonders out loud, "why are you frosting it? I know I said I wanted the outside to look nice so he couldn't wait to cut a piece, but how on earth would a cake I baked look nice?"

Harry gets a very serious look on his face, as if this is a serious conundrum that needs to be solved. As if the frosting on this fake cake rivals world peace in importance. " I could have helped you make it. I mean, better to stick closest to the truth, right?"

For a second, Louis is absolutely incredulous. Nobody, absolutely nobody, will believe that he and Harry hung out and baked a cake together. Five years ago, it might have been routine, but not now. Louis has avoided  being alone with Harry since he came back. Even Bernard, as stupidly unobservant as he is, knows this.

Louis wonders if he should actually say it, hopes that he doesn't have to. And of course, he doesn't. Harry knows. He must have been temporarily caught in the same nostalgic vortex that Louis was. Pretending, maybe, that hanging out in their kitchen late at night, baking, is still something they do together.

Harry looks down at the frosting whipping steadily in the mixer and Louis watches as a whole kaleidoscope of emotions flicker over his face: hope, love, agony, despair.

Harry's voice is so quiet. "I'm can't say I'm sorry enough, Lou."

Louis' throat tightens. This is what he was dreading and trying to avoid. Facing straight on that while this whole evening feels like déjà vu, the truth is that nothing will ever be the same again.

Harry's back hunches over the mixer and he's hiding his face now. Louis shouldn't, but he worries he's begun to cry.

Even though Louis dispassionately knows that Harry deserves the pain for what he's done, he  can't stand to see it. He still wants to  comfort him. The urge i s  overwhelming and Louis is so sick of fighting his own instincts.

He doesn't even decide; he realizes he's already made his decision when he's already three hesitant steps closer to Harry. And in the most painful irony, Harry's head shoots up, because he can sense that Louis has come just a little closer. 

T he muscles in Harry's  back tense, his old white t-shirt nearly transparent under the harshness of the kitchen lights. Louis acts before he can even stop himself, reaching out and gently, carefully laying a palm on the broad plane of Harry's back. Harry jerks , and then relaxes into the touch, as if  he's been waiting for it. As if it's all that he's ever wanted or needed.

Louis' fingers tighten in the cotton of Harry's shirt, and even though it's so dangerous, he takes another step forward, until his own shorter body is practically curled around Harry's bigger one. He wants to put his arms around him so much--the desire is like a flame burning through his veins. He never wants to wake up from this trance he's under. He wants to stay here, forever, and remember with his hands and his lips and his tongue and his teeth all the parts of Harry that have begun to fade from his memory.

He knows Harry would let him. Fuck, Harry would probably whimper and beg him to. The only thing standing between Louis and the literal edge of sanity is that annoying little whisper in the back of his mind.

_ What if you let him back in? And what if he leaves you again? _

But even this thought isn't enough to stop Louis when Harry slowly turns, Louis' hand sliding over his back and naturally coming to rest against his waist.

They're practically embracing now. All Louis would have to do is lean forward and press his lips to Harry's. He wants it so much he's nearly panting with it. He wants to take Harry apart piece by piece and let the ugly, angry parts of  himself be washed away by the power of the desire simmering between them.

Harry's eyes burn with an unearthly green light, and Louis knows the exact moment Harry realizes it's inevitable . His breath goes short and he hesitantly settles his own large hand around Louis' waist, fitting it in the same curved hollow that had been his exclusive spot for four wonderful years. Louis' eyes flutter shut and he leans in, so close that their breath is mingling.

Louis realizes like a blinding shot of lightning that he was so, so stupid to think that he could ever resist this. They are inevitable, like magnets or a moon orbiting a planet. He might be able to fight against the compulsion for a little while, but this right here is all he has ever wanted since he was eighteen years old. Younger, even, because the moment he met Harry, it was as if every part of himself that didn't make sense before  suddenly settled into place, grounded by the very fabric of who Harry is.

He's felt for five years that his very existence doesn't make sense if Harry isn't with him, and the overwhelming rightness of this moment convinces Louis even further. Caution and fear are fading into the background, as if they never even existed, and in this second, Louis' certainty is so bright it nearly blinds him.

Louis kisses him.

Hesitantly at first, cautiously, wonderingly touching his lips to Harry's, hoping that his own brain won't freak the fuck out and that Harry's won't either. But Harry sinks into him like a puppet with its strings cut, as  he's been waiting for exactly this.

The last thought Louis has before Harry's fingers tighten around his waist and the kiss deepens is that Harry isn't the only one who's been waiting .

Still, even as Harry's tongue brushes his and Louis can't help the little moan that escapes him, he tries to keep it light. Tries to keep it from turning dirty and sexual even though he knows it's inevitable because his cock has been hard in his jeans for what feels like the whole evening and he knows from the little aroused gasps Harry is making into his mouth that he's in a similar state.

But Louis knows he's not ready. He wants to be. He wants to drag Harry upstairs and make him fall apart under his mouth and open him up until he's begging for his cock, gagging for it, moaning and writhing for it--but wanting and needing are two different things entirely. Louis knows if he takes him to bed now, like he wants to, like he's dying to, nothing will ever get fixed. He will freak out at some point and all this will go to shit.

He might still freak out even with just the kiss. There's no promising he won't. But sex is a step too far.

So he tries to keep it light, even when Harry's hips stutter and search for his, desperate for the same friction that Louis' hard dick craves. Even when Harry groans, the sound so filthy and sexual that Louis has to pull away gasping because the desire to wreck him against this counter is so strong that for a second he isn't sure he can resist.

Louis opens his eyes and looks up at Harry, at swollen red lips, and at his eyes, the pupils blown out until just a ring of green remains. "Lou," Harry murmurs, his voice low and gravelly and there's a thousand questions in that one single word.

"We shouldn't have done that," Louis finally says and hates how Harry's face just freezes in place.

"Don't say you're sorry," he begs softly. "Don't say you regret it."

Louis knows he should regret it. Louis knows that what he's just done will make those dreams of his a hundred times worse. Now that he's kissed him again, Louis knows that he will want to kiss Harry even more than he already did before. It should be a huge, massive mistake--and it kind of is.

But he can't bring himself feel any regret. He shakes his head and Harry sighs. "I didn't mean. . ." Harry says. "I didn't mean for it to happen. I mean, I wanted to. I always want to. But that's not why I came here tonight."

"It's okay," Louis soothes, reaching out to cup Harry's cheek with his palm. "I know." He hesitates. "I think maybe it was inevitable."

Harry looks like he has even more questions now but Louis doesn’t have any answers. So he changes the subject, mostly because he's a huge chicken shit and a miserable excuse for a person. Harry doesn't deserve to be jerked around. He deserves for Louis to explain why he's been pushing him away for weeks and now just kissed him. But explaining to Harry means Louis understanding why he did it and explaining it to himself and he can't. He just can't. He's  going to have to live with the knowledge that maybe he's not being entirely fair to Harry right now.

And some hidden, deep well of hurt inside of him believes that maybe it's Harry's turn to feel lost.

"Maybe you should check on the frosting," Louis observes, gesturing to the mixer, which is still whirling away as if the two of them weren't almost humping each other only mere inches away.

"Right," Harry says. "Right." He turns towards the mixer, and Louis steps away from him, returning to his misshapen sponge cake. It looks even worse from this angle and Louis contemplates trying to fix it but maybe Harry is right. He definitely wouldn't bake something that turned out perfect.

The mixer shuts off, and Louis looks up to see Harry rummaging in a drawer. "Oh good," he says to Louis, pulling out a utensil with a flat blade. "you didn't move anything around."

It's a simple enough comment but it's all it takes to forcibly jerk Louis the rest of the way out of his warm little bubble of nostalgia. It's enough for Louis to realize that the kiss wasn't just a little mistake. It was an enormous mistake. What was he thinking, letting Harry back into this house, back into his life? Back into his heart? 

"What's that?" Louis demands.

Harry gives Louis a strange look. "It's just something you use to spread frosting."

"Give me that," Louis demands rather than asks and then  snatches it right out of Harry's hand. Harry looks confused for a second and Louis can't blame him. But panic is a white hot heat streaking through him and he needs to frost this damn cake and get Harry out of his house. He needs to sit alone and think. He needs some space to f reak the fuck out properly.

Harry reluctantly passes over the bowl of frosting and with jerky, uncoordinated movements, Louis plops a huge mound onto the sponge shape and begins spreading it with no concern at all for how it might look as a finished product.

"Maybe you should let me. . ." Harry begins to say but then he must catch the feverish look on Louis' because he stops in the middle of his sentence. "Oh," he finally says. "Oh."

Louis sets the frosting spreader onto the counter with a decisive click. He hates how angry he is, especially because he can't even blame Harry for it this time. Harry hasn't forced himself on Louis. Louis invited him to come over and help with the cake. Louis is the one who approached him. Louis is the one who kissed him. All Harry was doing was simply existing. It's not his fault that he is too much for Louis to ever resist.

"I think you should leave," Louis says quietly but decisively, and he manages to keep most of the anger from leaking into his voice, but there's an edge to it that Harry must recognize.

"Alright," Harry says softly. "I understand."

Harry's understanding only  makes Louis feel worse. He feels guilty now, too, not just angry. But how can he stand here and pretend that everything is okay? Nothing will ever be okay again, as far as he's concerned.

"I'm sorry," Louis says hopelessly. "I'm so sorry."

Harry's eyes are so sad. "I know. It's really okay, Lou. I get it."

That doesn't make it better though, and Louis watches as Harry walks out of the kitchen and then waits breathlessly as he hears Harry tug his boots on and grab his coat from the hook. When Louis finally hears the door shut behind Harry, he lets out a groan and he crashes to the counter, his elbows digging into the hard marble.

He is such a fucking idiot.   



	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some very nice person recommended a wonderful song for this story that everyone should check out: "Talk" by Kodaline.

Louis can  practically  taste the chlorine in the air.

It's pitch black outside, the only light coming from the shimmering water below and from the stars overheard. Louis  rubs his toes  along the concrete of the pool deck and cranes his neck upwards, head fuzzy from the beers he's drank and from the boy  that he can't seem to forget.

Louis can't believe he's  only known Harry for  weeks. He's lived eighteen years of his life before knowing Harry, yet it seems like the few days he's spent with him  are so much more vital and important than  all  those years before. Louis feels like he can divide his life into Before Harry and After Harry. Louis doesn't get it, can't understand it, and feels like he's literally drowning every single time Harry glances over at him, eyes so green and so knowing, and catches Louis staring.

The sun was still up when Louis lost count of how many times Harry caught him today. It would be even more embarrassing but incredibly, Harry beams every single damn time. Like Louis is the best thing he has ever seen and he can't stop looking either.

Louis knows he's nothing special. He's just a kid who can kind of sing,  who is  most definitely gay, and is trying not to drown in this amazing opportunity that he's  been given. There's four other lads with him, all just as lost, and that helps, but somehow, all Louis can think of or breathe in is Harry.

"Lou," a voice behind him says softly and Louis jerks around, flushing at the thought that the very person who's so heavily on his mind has just caught him staring moodily at the stars when he should really be sleeping.

"You should really be sleeping," Harry says, his voice deep and gravelly from his own sleep.

"Not tired, really." It's a lie. He's exhausted, but as soon as they threw their sleeping bags on the floor and proceeded to nod off, Harry somehow ended up wrapped up around him even though the last time Louis checked he was a good three or four feet away.

After Harry's arms snaked around him, Louis gave up the thought of sleep for good. Because he knows what he wants from Harry and he's almost certain Harry wants the same thing and the thought makes him feel shaky and nervous inside, butterflies circling in his uneasy stomach.

"Me either," Harry says, even though Louis is sure he was  snoring away literally minutes before. 

"Liar," Louis observes, unable to help his fond glance at the younger boy, who comes over to sit next to him on the chaise lounge. "You were asleep when I left."

Harry bashfully glances over at Louis. "You left and I woke up," he admits, a smile breaking over his expressive features. Louis can't help himself; he buries a finger in Harry's dimple. 

"You're so cute, curly," Louis whispers. "So damn cute."

Harry nuzzles into Louis' arm. "So're you," he whispers back, and Louis can't help but glance over at him then, and the adoration on Harry's face is impossible to miss. Nobody with eyes could miss it, and Louis most definitely has eyes.

They haven't talked about it. Harry's hinted once or twice he might not be interested in girls. Louis has tried to evade the question enough times  that last night, after a few beers, Niall just came right out and said, "no girls for you, huh, Tommo?"  Louis had blushed red, embarrassed that he'd been caught out so damn easily. But he'd nodded still, desperately hoping that it wouldn't change anything between the five of them.

Okay, he's lying. He desperately hopes it will change things with Harry--someday, at any rate.  But all Niall says is, "more for the rest of us then," and goes right back to shoveling popcorn into his mouth. When Louis glances over at Harry, he's smiling so bright it's hard for Louis to keep looking. That's the moment Louis knows, even though they haven't said a single word to each other, that there's something real brewing and it's so big and vast and they've barely even touched the surface of it. It frightens the shit out of him.

Louis' breath catches in his chest. Harry's lips are obscenely red and he keeps biting his plush lower lip between his sharp white teeth. Louis wants to lean down and kiss him more than he even wants to make it through to the live shows.

The thought of the live shows reminds Louis that this is possibly the worst time for him to be discovering his sexuality. It's even worse timing for him to find someone that he wants to discover his sexuality with.

It's hard, maybe one of the hardest things he's done, but Louis wrenches his gaze away from the pleading look on Harry's face.

"Do you want to swim?" Louis says because suddenly he's sweating. He considers himself a fairly expert flirt, especially with girls, mostly because he's never given a shit if he was ever  successful with them.

Boys sometimes intimidate him, mostly because he wants so much but isn't sure of all the mechanics to get it.

The thought of Harry sends him reeling into a whole other universe until Louis feels like he's grasping for what's left of his sanity.

"Sure," Harry says, tilting his head quizzically, his dimple emerging again.

He stands and before Louis can even suggest they go change into their trunks, probably still damp from their afternoon swim, Harry pulls off his t-shirt, revealing  pale, baby smooth skin and the barest hint of muscled shoulders. Louis gulps in air as Harry hooks a thumb over the waistband of his pants. Harry looks back at him, expression coy and taunting, those gorgeous lips curling into a sly grin. "You game, Tommo?" he asks.

Louis swallows hard again. Whatever he's wanted before with a cute boy fades into obscurity compared to what he wants now with Harry. He's half hard in his own pants, and Louis literally feels himself throb as Harry doesn't even wait for an answer, just pulls down his underwear and gives Louis a perfect, uninterrupted view of a small but surprisingly curvy ass.

Louis wants to bite into the flexing muscle of it. He wants to spread Harry's soft, white cheeks and have a taste. The images are flashing through his head, one more sexual than the next, and he can't even think straight as Harry dives into the water. He emerges, hair dripping, with his very green eyes glued onto Louis.

"Coming?" Harry taunts knowingly.

It feels like one of the biggest decisions of his life. Bigger than letting his mum drag him out of bed to go to his X-Factor audition. Bigger than his friend Hannah agreeing to help cover  up  how much he likes cute boys. Bigger than the fights that he can't help but hear late at night between his mum and his stepdad.

Louis stands up anyway, walking over to the edge of the pool, his shorts baggy enough that he hopes Harry can't see just how hard he is from only a minute or two of teasing.

He hesitates for a split second, then before he can chicken out or change his mind, he slips off the shorts and pulls off his t-shirt and tosses them behind him. He's standing in front of Harry now, clad only in his pants, and there's no way that Harry can miss his dick now. Louis knows he's not exactly enormous, but  right now  he feels  like he is.

Louis knows the second Harry realizes he's hard because those green eyes grow even bigger and brighter and  his  lips form an "o" of surprise.  It's not even the tiniest bit awkward, Louis thinks, his heart beating so fast that it seems impossible that Harry can' t hear it loud and clear.

"Lou," Harry says, his voice so low that Louis practically aches with it, "you're  so  beautiful."

"You say that now," Louis replies breathlessly. He can't seem to get enough air in his lungs and while he's got fingers hooked on either side of his pants, it feels like too much to pull them down and expose everything that he's been hiding.

Not only that boys turn him on, but that  _ this  _ boy turns him on.

"Get in, water's fine," Harry teases, tipping his head so he can  float on his back.  Louis isn't sure if he's looking away casually so that Louis will take that last step and jump into the pool as naked as the day as he was born--but he wants to think it. He hasn't known Harry that long, but every moment they've spent together has taught Louis that Harry's a sensitive soul, for himself and for others. He's always unfailingly kind to everyone.

Louis believes that right now, Harry somehow understands how scared Louis is but also how much he wants it. And with Harry looking away, somehow the fear isn't quite as bad. It's not that Louis never wants Harry to look--it's more like it's too hard for him to look  _right now_.

So Louis finally sheds his pants and in a quick movement, launches himself, full cannonball, into the pool.

The water is  not  fine, it's freezing, and Louis comes up spluttering. When he wipes his face and finally opens his eyes, eyelashes blinking the last of the water out, Harry is  right  there, so close that Louis feels like he can identify the million different shades of green that make up his eyes.

"Hi," Harry says, almost shyly, but his gaze is coy and almost a bit calculating. Suddenly Louis feels like whatever he suggested has played right into Harry's plans.

"Hi back." Louis hates how breathless he sounds. "This water is freezing by the way. Could've warned me."

" But that would have ruined  all  the fun," Harry observes seriously, and it's at that moment that Louis realizes Harry is slowly moving closer, and he's moving with purpose.

Louis doesn't even  discover he's moving backwards in response until his back hits the concrete edge of the pool.

Harry's face breaks into a devastating smile, dimples and all. The water is  fucking cold but Louis feels like he's still sweating.

"Going somewhere?" Harry asks, all coy innocence. Louis is beginning to dimly realize that  if he's a good flirt,  Harry is  positively masterful. He's gotten Louis exactly where he wants him.

Harry settles his hands on the pool edge, one on each side of Louis, and floats even closer.

Louis' mouth goes absolutely bone dry. His heart is pumping furiously and it feels like each beat is matched in intensity by the throbbing in his dick.

This is either going to be the greatest kiss of his life or the worst.

"Should we talk about this?" Louis manages to gasp out. He's rather impressed that he managed to speak at all. All he thought he was capable of were animal-like grunts and perhaps a show of brute strength--flipping their two bodies and shoving Harry up against the pool wall, then devouring him just like he's fantasized about way too many times.

"I don't know," Harry asks so casually, as if their lips aren't only inches apart. "Should we?"

Suddenly it doesn't seem to Louis that there  is  much to discuss. Harry is clearly interested in Louis, and he already knows Louis is both gay and has a huge crush on him. What  _ is  _ there to talk about, really? Louis is stumped so he just shakes his head slowly.

"Good," Harry says and before Louis can even register the word, Harry leans forward those last few inches and kisses him.

The moment their lips touch, there's a supernova in Louis' brain and everything he thought he understood about lust and attraction and even crazier,  _ love_, just burns away, leaving only the two of them.

Harry's hands fall to Louis' shoulders and he strokes the wet skin stretched over his collarbones so delicately as he proceeds to kiss Louis like there's no other air in the universe.

It takes a moment for the sudden surge of electric lust in Louis' mind to clear so he can catch up to where Harry already is, but as soon as the fog clears, everything becomes very clear. Suddenly it doesn't matter that this is literally the worst possible time for Louis to be finding someone to love, he only knows that he wants it to be Harry so, so much.

He wants to be able to do this all the time, at any place--basically  every single time he gets the urge, which he knows will be constantly because it's insanely good. Harry's lips are so plush and warm and passionate against his, and he uses the perfect amount of a tongue, a Harry-unique combination of hesitancy and aggression that has Louis' veins burning with how much he wants to pull Harry out of the pool and figure out every way he can make him fall apart.

Louis' arms wind around Harry's waist, fingers stroking up his sides as Harry's skin trembles. Louis can't help but marvel in wonder at how responsive Harry is, how much he clearly loves it when Louis touches him. It's such a simple thing, a touch, but it seems to practically unwind Harry. Then Harry moves a fraction closer to Louis, drifting almost, in the water, and Louis practically squeaks into Harry's mouth as his hard dick brushes against his thigh.

It's easily one of the best things that Louis has ever felt and it boggles his mind that there's  so  much left for him to experience. Everything, really.

Harry's lips lift off his and he's breathing heavily--gasping, actually. "Is this okay?" Harry murmurs, his voice the deepest Louis has ever heard it. He can practically hear the desire in it.

Louis can't even answer. Any words he had are gone, all he has to express his feelings are his actions. So he leans forward, reaching up to cradle Harry's cheeks in his palms, and kisses him again, deeper, even more passionately this time.  As they kiss, he re-aligns their bodies and groans into Harry's  mouth when their dicks slide wetly against each other.

Shocks of electricity are shooting through his nerves, pleasure sparking so brightly that Louis thinks he might black out from just a few kisses and the feel of Harry's dick against his. It's the greatest thing he has ever  experienced , better even than the one time he decided it might not be a bad idea to try to shag a girl. It's actually the thought of how  much  more there is,  everything  that he can still experience with Harry, that shoots Louis right over the edge. He lets out a filthy moan, and tears his mouth from Harry's, sinking his teeth into the bony curve of Harry's shoulder. Louis is so lost he isn't even sure if he tastes blood in his mouth or not, but whatever it is he's done to Harry's skin, it's apparently enough to send Harry along right after him. His hands grip Louis' shoulders for balance in the water as he moan s out his release. He's so loud that if Louis wasn't boneless and smiling, his head tucked into the crook of Harry's neck, he might care that they probably just woke up the other three.

But he's so happy, he could give a shit.

\----

Louis wakes up with a hard jolt and realizes in a split second that it's not the summer of 2010, he's not in a pool, he's  not naked, and he's definitely  grinding against Harry Styles.

Unfortunately.

His dreams have always been  vivid, but over the last month, they've taken on a practically pornographic attention to detail that have left Louis  in an unbelievably horny state.

The very worst part is that his poor agonized psyche seems determined to torture him with dreams that don't just contain a grain of truth--they  are  truth.

His first kiss with Harry Styles did take place in the bungalow pool, late at night. Harry did practically shove him against the wall and that was the very first orgasm they ever experienced together. The few words they exchanged, and even how he'd fucking felt back then--terrified and anxious and falling so, so hard-- are way too accurate for Louis' peace of mind.

His alarm goes off five seconds later and Louis has never wanted to throw his phone  against the wall more than he does right now. He wants to go back into the dream, where everything  seems  complicated, but in reality is so simple compared to the royal mess he and Harry are embroiled in now.

Louis needs to get in the shower in the next ten minutes or he will most definitely be late to rehearsal today and since their opportunities to reach a  performance-ready level are dwindling, he can't exactly call in sick. Even if he wants to.

He's been having  this  particular dream for a week now, ever since he stupidly kissed Harry in the kitchen they used to share. The last seven days have been an awkward mess for him and for Harry and since their own issues always seem to affect everyone around them--the rest of the band as well. Louis is sick of getting confused, longing glances from Harry. He's sick of Liam glaring at him like he's just killed Harry's kitten. He's really sick of Niall and Zayn constantly asking him if he's okay. He's not fucking okay. He wants Harry--craves him, really--so much than he did  five years before.

Basically, having Harry close but not actually  having him might kill Louis.

Louis has even let his Drive Bernard  Batshit Crazy Plan fall by the wayside because all he can focus on this week is Harry. It boils down to Louis needing every ounce of his self-control to  simply exist next to Harry and not drag him to the nearest loo.

An hour later, Louis stalks into the warehouse. He's pissed and he's horny and he's cold as fuck from the icy shower he'd forced himself to take.

He refuses to let himself get off to the dream. He won't let it happen. Unfortunately in the meantime, it's seeming pretty likely that his dick is going to get frostbite.

Liam must figure out his mood because he marches over straightaway as Louis is fixing his tea, his favorite fuck-off expression plastered to his face with the hope that everyone will just leave him alone.

"Tommo," Liam says in his most faux-upbeat voice. One of these days Louis is going to tell him that it's fooling no one and that he should just stop pretending to be happy all the time. Nobody is happy all the time.

Louis is definitely not happy all the time.

Louis ignores him, instead filling his cup with hot water from the electric kettle. Liam, because he's Liam, tries again. "Good morning so far?"

Louis shoots him the most withering glare in his arsenal. "Not exactly, no."

"Let's go out tonight. Grab a few pints." Liam states this request, rather than asks. Louis wants to tell Liam that he's got plenty of plans after rehearsal. Lots of important places to be and people that want to see him. The truth is nowhere near close to this so he just gives Liam a sharp nod. Maybe getting a pint with Liam will be better than sitting at home, dreaming of forgiving Harry.

"Great," Liam's face breaks into a huge grin. "I'll pick you up at ten. And Tommo?" Louis glances up with a grimace. "Try not to look so. . ." Liam pauses, like he's actually reconsidering saying this. "Try to look like you care even a little."

Louis doesn't remember what looking like he's trying even feels like, but he gives him another nod and then rehearsal starts and for once he's almost glad because that means Liam can't bother him anymore.

\-------

When Louis finally gets home, his mood has gone from bad to resigned.

They spent the day at rehearsal blocking out the last of the songs they're doing and Louis has accepted the inevitability that this tour is far, far less organized and much less professional looking than any of their other three. They're kind of cobbling things together, with almost no help from management. Which makes sense, since Harry and to the lesser extent, the other four, went out of their way to piss them off. 

Instead of cutesy, coordinated videos and massive stages, they've got a fairly simple setup. The music will have to stand on its own this time around. Ironically, this is something that all five of them once wanted pretty badly, but in the new era of One Direction, where the music is probably their weakest link, it's not exactly a blessing.

But still, people have bought tickets. They're going to come to the shows. Louis thinks things could be worse.

Things could always be worse.

He takes a shower and styles his hair. He hasn't really since Lou cut it. Frankly, he couldn't be bothered to put in the effort for meetings or rehearsals. But he does now, because Liam's warning is still echoing in his head and Louis has a sinking feeling that they're not just going to pop down to the corner pub and have a few incognito pints. Liam wouldn't give two shits what he looked like if that's what they were doing.

No, Louis has a fairly decent idea where Liam is going with this and while his stomach knots painfully at the idea, he still hasn't picked up his phone and told Liam it's off.

It's been five years. Maybe it's time to take that last, final step. Louis knows that it won't get Harry off his mind or out of his dreams, but maybe it'll  help Louis feel a little less like a volcano about to explode.

Louis approaches the closet hesitantly. Jeans are easy enough. He picks his tightest pair and tries to ignore the way they bite into the few extra pounds he's put on around the waist. The good news is that the extra pounds make his bum look even curvier and Louis will definitely take the silver lining. He hasn't had enough of those lately. 

He browses through his t-shirt selection and decides that if he ends up in a t-shirt and jeans that Liam will probably kill him or try to dress him himself and there is no way he's going to end up looking like a white boy rapper. He digs further into the hanging clothes and finds a few things that he knows Liam and Zayn missed when they were packing up Harry's stuff.

He's seen them before, a few shirts and a pair of jeans and a scarf, hanging around so innocently but attacking him with sharp claws when he's searching for a jumper or an old pair of cleats he hasn't seen in awhile.

Louis knows he should have gotten rid of them, but tonight he's glad he didn't. The button-up is midnight blue and is vaguely shiny and nearly glittery. This is how Louis knows it was probably something Harry bought for himself. That and the size, which means it hangs a little big on him, but Louis unbuttons the first few buttons and then it doesn't look too much like he's drowning in fabric. It almost looks like a deliberate choice.

He has his own clothes besides t-shirts he could have worn. Clothes from the mythical past when he still had to walk red carpets, but Louis feels deep down that if he's going to do this, it doesn't feel right to not have anything with Harry with him. He very much doubts Harry would feel the same, but Harry left him for five fucking years. Harry doesn't get a say.

Louis stares in the bathroom mirror and fidgets with his hair, finally lowering his hand and staring at himself for a good thirty seconds, trying to imagine what someone else might see. He definitely doesn't look the best he ever has, but the blue shirt was a good choice. It darkens his eyes and plays up his tan. If he spotted him at a club, trying to pull, he might go along with it.

Maybe.

His doorbell rings and Louis gives himself one more reassuring glance in the mirror. He can do this. He  _ needs  _ to do this.

\------

Liam's jaw drops a little when Louis opens the door and he takes that as a reassuring sign.

"So you figured it out then," Liam admits as they walk to the car. Louis rolls his eyes. Liam's even hired a car and driver for tonight. Louis is absolutely not surprised at all.

Louis slides into the car. "Of course I figured it out. You said I had to look decent."

Liam looks extremely anxious still, as if Louis will still freak out and end this before it even begins. What Liam doesn't know about are the dreams that Louis' been grappling with for weeks. Liam doesn't know how desperate Louis has become. He's avoided taking this step for years, preferring to deal with his urges himself rather than possibly expose himself to a stranger.

The other issue is that Louis unfortunately has come to equate sex with a deep love and wasn't sure he could go out and do this--deliberately searching for a one night stand that wouldn't even know his name. He also worried that any one night stand  might  know his name. But now, anyone who cared to know has learned he's gay. He can go pull a fit guy and it wouldn't be any less than  what the world is expecting him to do.

"You're calm," Liam observes, glancing over at Louis. The truth is that Louis' isn't calm. He's just wiped his mind blank. He just isn't going to  think at all.

Louis glares at him. "This isn't a big deal." Except it is. Liam must suspect that in the years since Harry left, Louis has never done this. Otherwise he wouldn't have tried to mask it in such innocent terms as "grabbing a pint."

They drive for fifteen minutes and when they pull up to the sidewalk and stop, Louis realizes he never once asked where they were going. "Funky Buddha?" he asks with a resigned sigh. It's probably not the best place for him to pull a guy, but he's still a semi-celebrity. He might  do okay for himself.

Liam shoots him a hesitant smile. "Not exactly," he confesses. "This . . .this isn't for me. Not tonight."

Louis panics a little. "Where are we?" he asks as the door opens and Louis is faced with a neon sign announcing one of the more trendy gay bars in London. He's even heard of it and Louis is the first to admit that he is definitely not on top of what's hot right now.

Louis knows this is one of the first moments when he'll come face to face with how serious he is about doing this thing.

All he has to do is get out of the car and go inside. He'll have Liam with him, even, though not  too  much _with_ him, just in case someone he might want to pull gets the wrong idea.

He gets out of the car. Liam gives him a big, reassuring smile and he must have called ahead because they're through the door in under ten seconds. Liam probably did it so he wouldn't have a chance to chicken out.

"How about that pint?" Liam asks loudly, talking over the music, as they drift to the bar.

Louis shakes his head decisively. If he's going to do this, he'll need a lot more liquid courage than a beer. He orders a vodka straight up and  swallows it in one quick gulp, feeling it burning all the way down. Liam sips his beer and gazes over at him speculatively as Louis orders another.

Louis doesn't want to contemplate what Harry would think of him, if he could see him now. He won't let himself.

The second shot burns a little less than the first.

"Are you sure you're okay here?" Louis asks before Liam can ask him the same thing.

Liam gives him an incredulous, mostly uncomfortable smile. "You know I. . ." his voice drops, until Louis can barely hear him and they're crammed together at the busy bar, practically in each other's laps. "You know I do. . .sometimes."

Oh, so they're talking about it now. Liam refused to ever discuss his bisexuality back during the first run of One Direction.

"Alright then," Louis says, feeling a lot looser than he has in awhile. He's beginning to look around and think this wasn't such a terrible idea after all. "So something for us both."

Liam gives an awkward little shrug. "Might be different than what I've had. Not a bad thing, right now."

Liam is going through a horribly awful divorce. Louis really can't blame him for wanting to try something different. Something that doesn't remind him anything of his marriage.

Louis picks up his third shot of vodka. "Wish me luck then," he says jauntily, clicking the glass against Liam's pint,  downing it,  and pushing away from the bar. He heads down the stairs, enjoying the loose way he can just glide down the steps to the dance floor. The music is a heavy beat, throbbing in time with the blood pumping through his veins, and he loves the anonymity of the darkness and the flashing lights.

He heads onto the dance floor and as he begins to move, he can feel the appreciative stares beginning to slip over his body. It's almost addicting, being the center of people's attention, when he's spent so long hiding away, never wanting to be seen.

It isn't long before he feels a tall body behind his, moving in sync with his hips. Louis is vaguely relieved they're behind him because if he has to look the man in the eye, he isn't sure he can go through with this. This isn't about a connection; it's only about mutual lust. He can do lust. It's love he has a problem with.

Hands reach around his waist and if they don't feel right, if they feel too rough, too selfish, Louis ignores it and tries to focus on the way the hands make him feel hot and desirable.  _ Wanted. _

The body moves closer to him, and a hand slips down his back, sliding along the upper curve of his bum. Louis fights through the urge to turn and run. Nothing about this feels right, but he's still half-hard in his jeans, and while his head and his heart are fighting it, his dick wants this badly. Wants it enough for him to tip his head back and start to move in sync with the man's movements behind him. It takes half a song, but Louis' panic begins to fade and he's desperately horny enough to start to contemplate turning around.

By the song ends, he's gathered up his courage and slips through the man's grasp enough to twist around to face him.

There's half a second of  burning hope that somehow Harry has found him, that their souls have found each other, even in this place, but it's so foolish that when Louis blinks, he banishes it. That kind of hope is for dreamers who don’t have to face reality.

Reality isn't even that bad, Louis realizes with pleasant surprise. Reality is actually quite fit--tall with dark hair and a quite attractive face. Good body too, rippling arm muscles emerging from his loose white vest. The man smiles down at Louis and Louis wants to swear loudly because his smile is even nice.

"Hello," Louis says brazenly,  yelling it over the music.

The man looks amused. "Hello."

Louis waits a second or two for recognition to hit him, and when it doesn't, he figures that he's safe enough. He reaches out and wraps his hand around the man's wrist, giving an insistent tug. He's not sure he can say the words, but it doesn't matter because he only laughs in agreement and then Louis is leading the man to where he assumes the loos are, in the back of the club.

But before they get there, he pulls Louis off his determined route and gently pushes him against one of the walls. "Hello again, darling," he murmurs, leaning down so Louis can hear him loud and clear. "So, so pretty," he croons, and Louis realizes a second too late what he's going to do. Worst of all, Louis realizes that he can't do this after all.

He kisses Louis. It's a nice kiss, even--soft, insistent lips that actually move with finesse.

It wouldn't matter if it was the best kiss in the universe. It's all wrong, Louis thinks, panic shooting through him like a shower of sparks. He twists his head away after only a few moments, panting in the dim light of the corner they ended up in.

There's bewildered  confusion on the man's face and Louis can only gaze up in silent apology. "I'm sorry," he finally stammers out. "I can't. . ."

That is of course the very moment that the flash of recognition that Louis was waiting for before appears in the man's dark eyes. "You're. . ." he says in shock.

"Yes," Louis says shortly. "That's me."

The man smiles, slow and sad, as if he understands exactly what Louis is going through. He puts a reassuring hand on Louis' shoulder. "It's okay," he says. "I get it."

And then he's gone, and Louis is left leaning against the wall, his pulse going wild and his throat closing over with the panic. It only takes a second, but he knows he can't stay. Blindly, he pushes his way as rudely as he can through the dance floor, furious with himself and his own stupid, stupid heart. He shouldn't want Harry Styles anymore. He should hate Harry Styles with every breath he takes.

He doesn't. He doesn't hate him at all.

Louis finally bursts through the door and leans over right there on the sidewalk, resting his hands on his knees, and takes several long, cleansing breaths of cool night air, trying to calm the racing of his heart.

"Louis." Liam's concerned  voice comes from behind him, and a hand rests over the small of his back reassuringly. "Are you okay?"

Louis squeezes his eyes shut. He wants to cry and cry and never, ever stop. He shakes his head. No doubt Liam just witnessed his entire meltdown. He's never going to be able to live this down.

"Car should be here any minute," Liam says, hand still on his back as he guides them gently to the side, away from the worst of the crowd ed line to get in ,  most of whom are eyeing the two of them with interest.

Two former  boybanders outside a notorious gay club, one of them having a panic attack. Louis can only imagine how that's going to play over the tabloids. Suddenly he is horribly sick at the thought that Harry will probably see evidence of him out, trying to pull, and in  _ his  _ shirt, no less. He wants to rip it off his body. Rip it to shreds then burn it until there's literally nothing left but ash.

The car pulls up and Liam manhandles him into it, and then they're moving again. Louis looks out the darkened window but doesn't pay any attention to the buildings they're passing.

"We should talk about this," Liam says carefully.

Louis squeezes his hands together, knuckles white, and swallows hard, resisting the urge to laugh hysterically at the idea . He can't even  think  about what just happened. Talking about it is definitely not going to happen.

"This was the first time you've done this, isn't it?" Liam asks again, even though he must know that Louis won't answer. But then his silence is probably answer enough.

"I thought so," Liam continues. "Listen, Lou. I wondered. . .I wondered if you could. Maybe it's okay that you can't."

It's not okay that he can't. Louis feels caught between a rock and the hardest place on earth. He can't get over Harry and he can't let him back in. What the fuck is he supposed to do with that?

"Maybe instead of fighting him so hard, fighting how much you love him, you should start fighting how much don't trust him. Fight  _ for  _ him, instead."

"But what if I can't trust him?" Louis' voice is raw, anguished. He glances over at Liam. Sees the tears in Liam's eyes. Knows he feels maybe even a portion of what Louis is feeling. And suddenly it hurts too much to have some stranger's hands be the last that have touched him. So he scoots closer to Liam, hesitantly almost, but Liam gets the idea instantly and reaches an arm out, tucking Louis into his side.

"I think you'll never know until you try," Liam finally says.

Minutes go by, and slowly but surely, Louis feels the vise choking his throat begin to relax. He can breathe again. He nuzzles further into Liam's arms. He's missed cuddling and being so close to his boys. Liam definitely. Zayn and Niall too. But mostly Harry. Maybe it's okay to admit that. Maybe it's okay and not even the tiniest bit weak or shameful to want back what he had before.

Maybe Liam is right, maybe he should start fighting for Harry instead of fighting against him all the time.

Maybe Niall is even more right. It's entirely possible that Louis and Harry are exactly as inevitable  as everyone always believed they were.

"Is it weak to want him back? To let him back in?" Louis asks softly. "Does it make me a weak person to forgive him?"

Liam takes so long to respond that Louis almost thinks he didn't hear it. "No," Liam finally says low and sure. "No. It makes you so strong. Like the strongest person I know. To hurt that way and forgive someone for it? That's strength. Not weakness."

Liam pauses. "I never forgave Zayn for  Perrie," he says in an even lower voice. "Never."

Louis actually does a double take. "What?" he exclaims.

"I thought. . .I thought. . ." Liam clears his throat. "I thought someday we might. You know. But then there was  Perrie. Don't let yourself live  with that regret."

Louis doesn't understand quite what is happening. "I thought you were going on about Danielle," he says flatly. "I thought she was the reason your marriage ended."

Liam laughs but there's no humor in it. "I wanted you to think that. I want _everyone_ to think that. Fuck, even Sophia thinks  it's Danielle."

"Oh." Louis doesn't know what to say. Zayn is in love with his wife, with  the small family that he's created. Louis knows, from long ago confessions over wisps of smoke, that Zayn might have reciprocated Liam's feelings but that was a long time ago.  He has  Perrie now.

"Please don't tell anyone," Liam whispers. "I just . . .I wanted you to know that you're not alone. And that regret really sucks."

"I wouldn't," Louis says seriously. He wouldn't. It's Liam's secret to keep.

"Just. . .you're not weak. You're so strong."

"It's okay, Li," Louis says, twisting his head up to give him a small smile. "I believe you."

"Good."

"Does that mean we can get McDonalds?" Louis asks hopefully.

Liam laughs again, but this time the sound is healthier. Happier. "Absolutely not. That  stuff'll kill you."

"Please," Louis whines as much as he dares. Which is quite a lot.

"Fine. But back on the diet tomorrow." Liam snakes his other hand around and pinches Louis' waist. "Don't think I haven't noticed that you've been eating your weight in crisps."

Louis moans. "Fine, fine, fine. You're like a fucking sadist, you know?"

"Gym tomorrow," Liam demands, and Louis can't help but sulk into his shoulder.

"What about rehearsal?" He can't believe he is actually using rehearsal as an excuse to get out of anything.

"How about we play some footie tomorrow night?"

Louis smiles. "Maybe we should invite the rest of the lads too. Harry can play on  _ your  _ team."

This time it's Liam's turn to groan theatrically. "That's just rude, Louis."

Louis  shrugs. He can't even believe he said Harry's name without feeling like he was pulled in two opposite directions, but it actually happened. Things are finally marginally better. He should send Liam a nice fruit basket.

Or maybe he'll be nice and pay for the McDonalds.   



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things:
> 
> 1\. So I was going to be all plot-y (a very technical term) but this came out instead. I was going to try again to add plot in, but it's just going to have to wait til the next chapter. Louis and Harry needed to talk more, I think. Or at least that's what they told me.
> 
> 2\. Florence + the Machine "Only if for a Night"

The night before the dress rehearsal, Louis is too tense and wound up to sleep. Normally, he might be pleased about this development, as no sleep means no dreams about Harry, but he isn't crazy enough to think that insomnia is  the right solution to anything.

Even Harry fucking Styles.

He tosses and turns for an hour, and finally gives up, shucking the covers from his sweaty legs, and ventures downstairs, grabbing a bottle of water from the kitchen. He gulps about half of it as he stares at the spot where he kissed Harry a few weeks ago.

Louis knows he's definitely nervous about the tour dress rehearsal tomorrow. Things are not nearly as settled or routine as he would like--and  out of the five of them,  he's usually the most laidback about that sort of thing.  But  nerves  over the tour aren't why he can't sleep. The truth is,  he's spent the last week  thinking about the conversation he had with Liam after the club. While he's been at rehearsal, when he's watching TV, when he should really be sleeping--the thoughts won't leave him alone.

Harry's been back long enough that the first time he sees him now, Louis doesn't freeze inside, shock and awe exploding equally inside his heart. He's still not completely comfortable, or really comfortable at all, around Harry, but Louis is fairly certain that if he could figure out what he actually wants to do--what he  _ should _ \--do with Harry, then the awkwardness between them would probably disappear.

The problem is that Louis still doesn't know what  that is.

He knows what he wants--and Louis takes it as major character development that instead of just going grabby hands over what he wants, like he always used to in the past, he's learned to look before leaping. He's fucking maturing. The downside of this is, of course, the sleepless nights, when he lays awake in the bedroom they used to share and  wonders what the fuck the right thing is to do .

Somehow, what he's going to do and what Louis believes he  _ should  _ do have gotten horribly tangled up together.

He hears what people say. He hears the snide jokes on the late night talk shows. He even goes on his twitter mentions sometimes, though that's a frankly terrifying exercise. He knows that everyone (mostly) blames Harry for their relationship falling apart, and Louis can't help but believe that  the  blame is basically justified. Harry did leave him and stay gone for five long years.

Alongside  all the talk over the One Direction reunion, there is also a lot of talk about their own personal reunion. Most people seem to believe that Louis would be a major pushover and basically  a huge wimp if he sucks it up and forgives Harry.

Only a few months ago, Louis  himself  would have been aghast at even the thought of  taking  Harry back. He's a firm believer in second chances, but the five years kind of negates even the vague idea of a  second  chance. Harry is more on his ten billionth chance at this point.

It's an unavoidable thought, Louis thinks, his eyes still glued to where he'd so thoughtlessly pressed Harry up against the counter. He generally doesn't give a shit what people think, but when it's what he  himself  has always believed, then it's rather a different story.

He knows if it was one of his friends, desperately trying to figure out what to do, Louis would tell them that anyone who takes a lover back who's treated them like shit is practically asking to be treated like shit again.

And Louis really does not want to be humiliated and dumped and abandoned all over again. He isn't sure he could take it and while he doesn't really believe that Harry will do it again, he didn't believe Harry would do it the first time around either.  Clearly he has terrible judgement where Harry is concerned \--except that even after they've been through,  it's  hard for Louis to wrap his mind around that.

Sometimes he still thinks he knows Harry Styles better than just about anyone else in the world.

It's still  warm in the kitchen, even though he's pressed the cold plastic bottle to the back of his neck, so Louis walks over to the back door, and unlocks  it, walking outside. The stones of the patio feel rough on his feet but the cool summer air feels amazing on his skin so he pads over to the grass and is just about to sit down to have a look at the stars when he makes out a shadowy figure in the darkness of his lawn and he can't help it.

He fucking screeches. Horribly. Awkwardly.

This is how his life is going to end, Louis thinks in an awful rush,  fear  shooting through him in a mad, nauseating rush . He's going to die in his own backyard, without ever figuring out if it's a good idea to take Harry back. The boys are going to have to re-choreograph all the numbers  again and the tour will be a huge bomb and Bernard will likely get fired.

The last thought is the only comforting one as Louis braces himself, fists raised. He knows he's not the most athletic or intimidating figure, but he isn't going to do down without a fight.

"Lou," a deep voice emerges from the shadows and then the figure walks into the moonlight.  Louis freezes, even more panicked than before.

It's Harry.   Harry  is hiding in his backyard.

This is just weird, even for Harry.

"Haz?" Louis pants, relief that he isn't going to die forcing the old nickname from his lips. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Harry shrugs. He's got an oversized jumper on and a beanie and old,  threadbare trackies. He looks worn and tired. He looks kind of like how Louis feels.

"I come here, sometimes," he says, voice low and ragged. "When I can't sleep."

"To my backyard," Louis states because he doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn't know whether to love it or hate it. He thinks he  might feel both, all at the same time.

"I don't know," Harry murmurs, tipping his head back, letting the breeze wash over his face, "I  guess I  still think of this as our backyard."

Louis' heart freezes in his chest, then starts to beat again sluggishly. "Oh."

"I know I shouldn't," Harry admits sheepishly, glancing over at Louis. Louis can see the faint reddish stain on his cheeks, washed pale by the moonlight.

Louis sits down on the grass because that's why he came out here, and since his brain isn't functioning correctly, he can't formulate another plan. He can only remember this one.

Harry gazes over at him and Louis can practically taste his question on the air. He waves his hand absently. "You're already here," Louis says blithely, as if this whole situation isn't one  gigantic emotional minefield, "might as well get comfy."

Harry sits down slowly, still a good distance away from Louis.

"I couldn't sleep either," Louis finally admits into the silence.

"Nervous about tomorrow?" Harry asks.

"Yes. No. I don't know. "

"Which is it?" Harry sounds like he genuinely wants to know.

Louis would love to be able to admit that his nerves are the reason he's up late recently, but it's not the truth. And while Harry has done some shitty things, he still doesn't deserve to be lied to.

"No." He says  it  with certainty.

Harry is silent and still for a long drawn-out moment. "Do you want to talk about it?" he finally asks.

Louis didn't think he did, doesn't really think  it's the best subject to broach with Harry, of all people, since the subject is mostly Harry himself. But the truth is, Harry is-- _was_ \--his best friend. Harry is the one he would have always gone to before. It feels weird having all these thoughts with nobody to really air them to. He could call up Liam or Zayn or Niall, Louis supposes, and he has at some point over the last two months.

But by now Louis knows their opinions. The one person who's opinion he doesn’t know, besides his own, is Harry's. Maybe it makes some kind of odd sense to go to the man himself.

He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "Would it be crazy of me if I wanted to try again with you?"

The air is absolutely still. Louis can't bring himself to look over at Harry, at his expression. He can only imagine the longing and love that's battling on it.

"Louis," Harry breathes out unsteadily. "Oh god."

"You can't answer as you," Louis bites out, and he's  being maybe a trifle  harsh, but this is important. He's not asking Harry Styles, his ex-boyfriend who  has admit more than once in the last two months that he's still in love with him. He's asking Harry his best friend, the person he could say anything to, practically from the first moment they met nine years ago. The Harry Styles he took one look at and knew with an absolute certainty that he would be important in his life.

"Oh, okay." Harry sounds confused. "Who am I supposed to answer as?"

Louis bends his knees and draws them close,  wrapping his arms around  them as he tucks his head into the curve of his hands. "My best friend," he mumbles out, suddenly embarrassed and regretting this whole thing.

He has the worst ideas when he's tired and confused.

But Harry, dear sweet ridiculous Harry, he takes it so seriously. Louis glances over and sees his face composed and serene, as if he's mentally placing himself into the right context. "Okay," Harry says then, "I'm ready now. Now, tell me more. What do you mean by crazy?"

Louis barks out a laugh. "Crazy? Well, like, I've been fighting you, fighting getting close. And Liam said the other night that maybe I was fighting the wrong thing. Like I should fight to trust you again." Louis pauses, wonders if he should go on, but he can't bring himself to even look over at Harry. "But yeah, then there's the part of me that doesn't want to be that stupid guy who trusted his ex again, only to be betrayed. There's always that one guy in the relationship, you know. The one who won't learn, no matter how many times he gets burned. I don't  wanna be that guy."

"You'd never be that guy," Harry says and honesty is ringing from every syllable. He sounds like he's never been more certain of anything in his life.

" I know," Louis agrees. "I'm far too paranoid." Louis has to wonder if he actually believes this, then why is he still contemplating the impossible?

"No," Harry argues, "that's not it at all, Lou. You're like. . ." Harry swallows hard. "It's like,  you'd never let someone in unless you were sure."

It makes sense; maybe Louis' doubts are actually born of his hesitancy to let Harry back in. And suddenly, Louis feels swamped with guilt for even daring to suggest something to Harry when he's not certain at all. It's not fair to Harry. As much as Louis has been suffering, Harry's suffered too and he doesn't deserve to get jerked around.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I shouldn't have asked you. It was. . ." Louis isn't sure how to finish that sentence, only he feels even crappier now.

"It's okay." Harry's voice is soft and there's zero judgment in it, only a thread of shame. "Honestly, I've accepted that we're done. I would never expect you to take me back."

Louis sits there for a long, drawn out moment. He tips his head back and stares at the stars. "But you're still here. In my backyard."

"I know." Harry sounds miserable now. Maybe even guiltier than Louis feels. "I didn't ever want you to know."

"That you were sneaking in?"

Louis glances over when there's a prolonged silence and he sees Harry sitting much the same way he is, legs extended out and crossed at the ankles, arms propped behind him, as he stares at the sky.

"You can talk to me too, you know," Louis finally says. It's the very least he can do, after all. Besides, he's kind of curious what's going on underneath all that curly hair. Harry never used to be this quiet before so Louis is definitely not used to having to drag out what he wants to know.

"I  didn't think you'd be interested in hearing about any of it," Harry admits and the honesty cuts Louis but he  really can't  blame Harry for believing that. He 's been an asshole. He deserves to act like an asshole, maybe, but that doesn't change the asshole part.

"What if I am?" Louis asks rather flippantly. After all, Harry should know, the more casual he acts about things, the more seriously he means them. It's a rather impossible character flaw that Louis knows he should get around to correcting one of these days.

"If you were, I'd tell you that I missed you so much and when it would get really bad, I'd imagine that I was back here. Sitting next to you in our backyard. And it would help, a little. Thinking of you playing footie and celebrating obnoxiously every time you scored on me."

Louis can't help it; he cracks a smile. He  did  do that. Every single time.

"And when I came back to London, just thinking about it didn't really help anymore, because you were so close but still so far away. So I started walking around London, I guess, late at night when I couldn't sleep. One night I ended up here, and that was it. I kept coming back. It felt so reassuring. . .kind of like home."

Louis wants to tell him that this  _ is  _ his home, but his head stops him before his heart can totally overrule all  his  common sense.

"How is it, then, being back in London?" Louis asks, because he wonders if one person has even asked Harry that question. They just all assume he's thrilled to be back and probably all ignore the obviously difficult parts that Harry has to endure now.

"Not easy," Harry admits. "I knew this would all be hard. I expected it to be hard. Even wanted it, I guess, a little." Louis is not surprised, he's long been familiar with the somewhat masochistic streak that Harry's got.

"What's hard about it?" Louis usually isn't the one asking the questions. He likes to be the one being asked--the absolute center of attention. But now, he's  curious, and also,  deep down, Louis knows that unless they start talking again, start trying to bridge this gap, he'll never know if he can trust Harry enough .

"Everything," Harry says, chuckling rather darkly. "Like literally everything."

"I bet." Louis can't help prying a little bit more. "What's the absolute hardest?"

"Honestly, it's that everyone wants to pop down to the pub for a drink. And like, I can resist. It's not that hard. Most of the time, I'm not even tempted. But I really don't like being around it, I guess you could say. But I don't feel like I can say no  when they ask.  Not after what I did."

Louis can't help the surge of protectiveness he feels. People are forcing Harry to go out to pubs? Even though they know he's an alcoholic and that he struggled for years to get clean? Louis is just plain pissed, and he has a very good idea of who it is that's behaving so fucking thoughtlessly. He grinds his teeth together and tries to stay calm. The last thing Louis wants is for Harry to think he blames him. It's not his fault. None of it is.

"You should say no," Louis finally says. "You don't have to be so bloody nice all the time. If it's hard for you, you should tell them that. And definitely say no."

"You know I'm rubbish at saying no," Harry says. Louis glances over at him and sees he's smiling and there's even a hint of a dimple in his cheek. Louis can't help it, the truth is, he's never been able to help it. He's just simply swamped with useless, hopeless, endless love for this boy.

Really, Louis thinks, this  _ man_. He loves Harry in every iteration, in every version, in every form, at any age. And considering what Harry put him through over the last few years and that nothing has changed about Louis' feelings whatsoever, Louis doesn't imagine that anything in the world will ever change them.

"Right," Louis says, still a little  shell-shocked by the force of the love cresting over him.

"I mean," Harry says, and this time looks over directly at Louis, who still hasn’t managed to tear his eyes off his ridiculous, adorable  face, "you were always the one who  said no. Maybe I just need to carry you around with me,  keep you in my pocket." The dimple is practically a crater now, and Louis can't help but think Harry is flirting with him and he's doing a smash up job because all Louis wants to do is cart him back into the house and carry him up the stairs and lay him down on their bed and have his sweet, dirty way with him.

Alternatively, they might not even make it to the bedroom. After all, Louis' gotten so many blowjobs in this backyard he can't even remember them all.

"Are you saying I'd fit in your pocket, Harold?" Louis asks archly, because while he might be able to resist the sexual pull of Harry, he definitely can't resist flirting with him, especially not now, when he's doing it so  charmingly. 

Harry grins helplessly, and quite blatantly and with no shame whatsoever, looks Louis up and down. "Yes."

"Rude," Louis snorts, but he's grinning back. He can't even help it. This feels so good, it reminds him of how much he loved his life before, how much he loved this boy before.

Harry scoots a little closer. "Gemma says I should say no, too," he admits. "She gets mad that I won't."

"She's right," Louis says insistently. "How is it, living with her?"   


Harry tucks himself tight, head resting on his knees. "Hard too. She hates the photographers around her place. She can be rather. . .protective."

Louis doesn't say it but he's glad there's someone out there watching out for Harry since he isn't anymore.

"I can't blame her for that either. Filthy bloodsuckers," Louis gripes. There's far more photographers milling around his own house, these days. "I haven't talked to her in a long time."

"Yeah, well, she's not your biggest fan these days," Harry mumbles into his knees and for a shocking split second, Louis wonders if he even heard him right. _Gemma_ is mad at  him?

"What?"

"Yeah, well, um. She sees me. . .well, it's hard to pretend  all  the time, you know. So she sees me. . .sometimes. She knows it's not your fault, I don't blame you for being upset with me. For not wanting to forgive me. But she sees and I think that makes it hard on her."

Louis thinks he may understand but his heart is thumping hard in his chest at even the thought. "Sees you what?"

Harry's voice is so small. He sounds sixteen again and it crushes Louis into a million pieces. "Sees me sad."

Sad obviously comprises a whole range of things and the truth is that Louis understands all of them far too well. He's been sad himself, at the very least, for the last five years.

"And angry," Harry adds. "Really angry."

Louis understands the anger too--at least on his end. He doesn't get Harry's nearly as well and since this feels like it's all helping, he just plain asks. "What are you angry about,  Haz?"

"Myself, mostly. For being so  broken,  I guess . . .so broken that I ruined my entire life. Pushed away the man I love. Pushed away my family and my friends and basically forced  me to abandon everything."

It's a hard reminder that as tough as things have been for Louis, they've been even harder for Harry. He's been struggling with controlling a disease that's essentially part of who he is. And Louis can't blame him for being angry; he's been angry too. Angry at fate for putting the most perfect boy in the world in front of him and letting them have four difficult but ultimately wonderful years together and then forcing it all to fall apart.

It's been worse knowing what he's been missing than if he never had Harry at all, and Louis supposes that it's the same for Harry. The loss is almost the toughest part.

"Well, I learned I'm shit without you," Louis says wryly. "Ask anybody, they'll tell you."

"Isn't that funny?" Harry muses. "I mean, you were eighteen when we met. You were basically grown up."

Louis laughs then. "I think you've forgotten what I was like at eighteen."

Harry ducks his head and blushes a little, the flush bright even in the shadows of the backyard. "I could never forget," he admits. "Never."

They're both quiet for a minute, both thinking and Louis can't help the question that keeps cycling endlessly through his head. He thinks he might go crazy if he doesn't ask it, so he finally does. "What about you?" he says so quietly he hopes Harry can still hear. "Would you try again?"

Harry said he was still in love with him, but Louis knows that doesn't mean he wants to get back together. A hard lesson Louis has learned through the years is that love isn't always enough; it might not be enough here and he's got to be okay with that. Even if he can forgive Harry, Harry may not want to open himself up to everything that came with being Louis Tomlinson's boyfriend. It would be stupid of Louis to assume that Harry would just drop everything and fall at his feet if Louis deigns to take him back someday.

"I don't know," Harry says, but Louis catches the note of wonder in his voice that belies the uncertainty of his words. "I never thought it was a possibility."

"Never once?" Louis asks persistently.

"I always wanted it, of course I did, but I  wouldn't let myself," Harry admits. "I was pretty sure that you'd hate me."

"Hate and love aren't too different, actually," Louis says softly. "But for the record, I don't."

Harry doesn't say anything for long enough that Louis wonders if he's said something wrong; if maybe he shouldn't have asked Harry at all. If maybe he shouldn't have brought it up. It isn't like he expected Harry to be eager--he is the one who left for five years, after all--but Louis thought Harry would at least consider the option.

Though he's clearly shit at admitting it, even Louis has considered the option. He can't help but consider it. He's not made of stone, okay?

"I just. . ." Harry finally speaks but he is struggling. "I'm finally healthy, Lou. I'm finally myself again. I got myself back. I'm not ready to give me away again."

Louis can't help the little pulse of shock race through him. "You think. . ." he stutters, "you think I would make you relapse?" As soon as he says it, Louis thinks the very idea is ludicrous. He personally considers it a miraculous feat that he kept Harry put together for as long as he did. Of course, if he gets technical, without the stress of his secret relationship with Louis, Harry might never have turned to alcohol in the first place.

"Louis, I loved you so much I destroyed myself. Does that sound healthy to you?" Harry says it so matter-of-factly that Louis can only gape at him.

"I don't understand," Louis says and he's a little annoyed. Here he's been practically tearing himself apart, trying to figure out if he wants to take Harry back, and  _ Harry doesn't even want to be taken back_. It's a development that Louis never could have imagined. "You said. . .you said. . .you said you  love me."

"Of course I love you." Harry gives Louis a look like he's the crazy one. "I'm never not going to love you. Whether we're together or not, you're it for me, Tomlinson."

"Right, right. Okay, yeah, that makes no fucking sense." And suddenly, inexplicably, Louis is kind of pissed. It shouldn't be up to  Harry. That was never how this was supposed to work. Louis feels jilted and rejected even though he wasn't even sure wanting Harry again was a good idea.

"I just can't. . .not now. Not when I've just gotten  me  back," Harry huffs out with a heavy sigh. "And if you really give us another chance,  I'm not going to fuck it up again. One of us definitely would right now."

Louis hates how much sense Harry makes. It's really a horrible personality trait.

Louis leans back in the cool grass. He can't look at Harry when he says this. "I tried to go out and pull last week. With Liam."

He can practically feel the air crackle with tension. "And?" Harry clearly doesn't want to be jealous but there's definitely an edge to his tone.

Louis picks at the grass. He can't bear to look over at Harry, see the horribly sympathy on his ridiculously expressive face.  "I couldn't do it. I've never been able to do it," he admits. "Not since you left."

"Oh." Louis likes how Harry is the one who's now at a loss for words. It's his turn, Louis thinks rather viciously.

"What I'm saying is that I've never been so fucking horny in my life," Louis admits, a huge wave of shame washing over him.

Harry laughs, long and low, and the sound sparks in Louis' belly and lower. His cock, vaguely interested in whatever is happening with Harry since they started talking, is undeniably paying attention now. Louis shifts uncomfortably.

"I think it's silly how people always talk us being so different," Harry says, his voice practically a caress against Louis' heated skin. "But we've  always been so much alike." He pauses, hesitates, like he knows he shouldn't be saying this to Louis. "I couldn't either."

Louis finally feels brave enough to glance up at where Harry is sitting. "It was just wrong," Harry says, shrugging. "It felt wrong."

Louis can only nod in response. That's exactly how it felt.

"But we can't, Lou," Harry continues in such a soft, sweet voice. "No matter how much we might want to. That wouldn’t fix anything."

Louis knows. But it would feel so damn good. He says as much and Harry laughs again.

"I believe," Harry says, "I have to believe that if it's right, if we're right for each other, it'll happen again."

"It'll just happen?" Louis can't help but be skeptical of this philosophy. He's never been good at the idea of leaving his own destiny in the hands of fate. He wants to fucking control it, thank you very much.

"When it's right, we'll know." Harry sounds so  zen and Louis just feels annoyed and cross at the world. Zen is not doing anything for his hard cock right now.

Louis harrumphs, and Harry shoots him this cute, dimpled grin. "Patience, Lou. It's called patience."

"You know I'm shit at patience."

"And I'm shit at saying no. But we'll both muddle through," Harry says, so sure of himself that this will all just  happen.

"I guess," Louis mutters darkly.

"You should go in and get some rest. Big day tomorrow," Harry says, and Louis can't help but hear the mothering, caring edge to his tone. He's missed having a Harry Styles to look out for him. He's spent far, far too long looking out for himself, and since it's never been his strong point, he's kind of done a shit job. Harry was so much better.

Louis props himself up on his elbows and slowly gets to his feet. Harry follows suit and they're standing there, staring at each other. Louis thinks he has so much to say but the words just don't seem to come. Maybe Harry, who was never the greatest at translating thoughts to spoken sentences, has actually said everything  they needed to.

"See you tomorrow, Lou," Harry says, beginning to turn away, and all of a sudden Louis freaks out. He can see a dark, blank,  empty  future stretching out ahead of him, so many years with nothing to look forward to, no warmth, no love,  no _Harry_ , and he just loses it. It is  so  much to leave up to chance, their entire lives, really, and he can't leave it so unsettled, so unfinished, when he wants this boy so much, even though he knows better.

"I can't, _I can't_ ," Louis chokes out, breath constricted in his suddenly tight throat and even though they've barely touched since Harry arrived back in London, it only takes a moment for Harry's warm, solid arms to wrap around him, to ground him.

"You've got this, we've got this," Harry murmurs into Louis' hair. "I know it's a lot to take on faith, but you've got to. Trust  me,  _please_."

Louis trusted far, far too much in Harry before, and look where that's got them. But he's got to believe in  something   or he may actually have a breakdown, so he takes one deep breath after another, holding onto Harry like he's terrified to let him go. And he kind of is. He may never get Harry back again and it's how much that thought utterly terrifies Louis that makes him realize once and for all that what he wants and what he should do are actually  one and the same.

He wants Harry Styles. Anyway he can take him.

Even if he has to be patient.

"Okay." It's just one word but it's enough. Louis gradually releases Harry, reluctant to let him go, reluctant to be trusting all this to the whims of fate, but it's what Harry wants and Louis was always shit at telling Harry no.

"You're good," Harry says softly, reassuringly. "You're good."

"I'm good," Louis repeats, a trifle dazed by how much Harry he's just had. He feels like the alcoholic and Harry is some very fine vintage Scotch.

"Will you sleep now?" Harry asks.

Louis realizes that he's actually quite tired. This was an emotional conversation and it's kind of worn him out. "Yeah, I think so.  G'night, Harry." He turns to go but can't leave  without saying one last thing.

"Hey  Haz?" he says as loudly as he dares to the retreating shadow. Louis sees the shadow turn and he spits it out before he loses his nerve.

"You're welcome here anytime you can't sleep."

And even though it's the middle of the night, the smile on Harry's face is as bright as the sun.

  



	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this ended up being slightly more plotty. But who are we kidding. This story is mainly a weird combo of fluff and angst. It's flangst. Yes, I've just coined a new term (probably not).
> 
> Also, feel free to mentally re-dress Louis in a blue suit and that sinful trench coat from this week's video shoot. I know you're going to do it anyway :)
> 
> Next chapter, they FINALLY go back on tour!!!! And in case I haven't mentioned it before (I probably haven't), comments like literally make my entire life. Even if it's you saying you hate it and that you think Louis/Harry/Bernard is selfish and the worst person ever. Every single one still makes me happy and toasty inside.

"I'm going to die," Louis whined mournfully from his position lying prone on the rehearsal floor. "Like actually die."

"You're not going to die," Liam chided from his own position on the floor a few feet away. Louis rolled his eyes, despite that the movement took  nearly the last ounce of energy from his body.

"Hypocrite," Niall called out. "You all are fucking hypocrites." His voice went high and squeaky and Louis wondered for half a second who he was attempting to imitate with it. It better not be him. "Tour's easy  peasy. A total cinch."

"Trust me, I never thought it would be easy," Louis groaned. "I knew it would be hard as fuck. I still underestimated."

They've just been through the dress rehearsal for the show and four of the five  of them  were currently on the floor, having decided that moving was a concept that was vastly overrated.

"Harry, you're like a fucking bunny," Zayn griped. "What the fuck are you still doing upright?"

Louis told himself he wasn't going to lift his head. He wasn't going to lift his head and he wasn't going to turn it and he definitely was not going to look at Harry's stupidly cute face.

Instead,  he did all three, and was rewarded with a smile that probably could have solved world peace.

"I'm happy," Harry drawls, all bright teeth and sunny eyes. "This was so awesome."

"Awesomely awful," Louis groans. "As well as being in absolute shit form,  it seems  we're rather  terrible now."

"Oh, Lou, we weren't all that bad," Harry chides.

"You were  total shit," Bernard adds in, and Louis still really wants to punch him in the face. And totally not because his words might dim  Harry's smile.

That would be a boyfriend thing to do and Harry is most definitely not Louis' boyfriend. But they are kind of friends now. Since they talked last night, it's  become a little  easier for Louis to see Harry and not want him.

He thinks he'll always want Harry, that isn't ever going to go away, but now that they've agreed that part is on hold, Louis can focus just on trying to salvage their friendship.

They started friends, after all, and no matter what they were going through, no matter how much they loved each other, Louis knows their friendship was always the foundation of everything.

"We'll get better," Harry insists optimistically despite Bernard's words.

Bernard mumbles under his breath. Louis doesn't catch the exact phrase, but it sounds something suspiciously like "you'd better," and he can't help but agree. They're supposed to be professionals. Well, they  used  to be professionals. Now, they're lucky if they make it through a song without a weird note somewhere, or a forgotten lyric or running into each other on stage--and not in  the cute, puppy pile way that used to make the fans scream. They're adults now and there's a weird sort of pressure that comes with their age.

Should they even be acting  silly? Louis sure fucking hopes so because his sense of humor is most of what he has to bring to the stage these days. Despite the last five years and the last few months, he can still laugh at himself.

He glances over at Harry again, who's still smiling, practically a human sunflower, and it strikes him that Harry is maybe the only one of the five of them who really misses the stage. While the rest of them were off doing god knows what to occupy their time, he's been trying to remake himself from the inside out. And even more impressive, he's actually done it. As a "congrats, you're sober" gift, a tour is maybe a bit on the extravagant side, but then Louis always  liked being  generous.

"Lads, we should celebrate," Louis says, rolling over and propping his face on one hand. He doesn't want to miss Harry's expression at his  suggestion.

"How?" Liam asks slowly and shoots Louis a warning look. Okay, so Liam might have a fair point. In the past, they'd usually celebrate by getting absolutely fucking smashed. They can't really do that anymore, not when the whole point of the celebration is basically Harry.

"Junk food and movies at my place," Louis improvises. He loves junk food. He loves movies. He can totally be okay with this. He doesn't need beer or vodka to have a good time.

"Does it mean I have to move?" Niall groans.

"Are you hungry?" Zayn counters, and Louis chuckles at Niall's outraged shriek.

"I can cook," Harry says, and he's so excited that Louis almost feels bad about nipping that idea right in the bud.

Almost.

"Will there be vegetables?" Louis asks archly.

Harry looks confused.

"Tommo wants junk food," Liam explains.

Louis  does  want junk food. He also doesn't want  Harry ensconced back in his old kitchen, cooking for Louis and his boys again, like the last five years haven't happened.  Yeah, he and Harry are in a better place. He can look at Harry now and not feel like all the air is being squeezed out of his lungs, but that doesn’t mean he's ready to watch Domestic Harry  back  in their kitchen. Cause the last time he was there, that turned out  _ so well_.

He and Harry are maybe finally ready to take a step towards repairing their friendship--because that's the first step, after all, to fixing all the rest of this mess--but he's just not ready to accelerate to boyfriends and from his confession last night, Harry isn't either.  Plus,  Louis is fairly certain the offer to cook is more of an ingrained habit of Harry's than anything else.

"I'll pick up takeout," Niall says. "Lots of takeout. Pizza, yeah? And Chinese."

"Kung  pao, please," Zayn adds primly. "Extra spicy."

"I know your order." Niall rolls his eyes. "It hasn't changed in nearly ten years, mate."

"What about Indian?" Harry pipes up. "I love a good yellow curry. Louis does too."

Three sets of eyes swivel to Louis, who is desperately hoping that nobody will bring up the incident he doesn't like talking about.

"Not anymore, he doesn't," Zayn says quietly and Louis can't help the flush of embarrassment. Someday, maybe he'll stop feeling ashamed of what a mess he was when Harry left. Today apparently is not that day.

"Just. . .just a bad experience," Louis stutters out in explanation, hoping that Harry will just assume he was too drunk one time after eating Indian and that's why he doesn't like it.

"Alright." Harry doesn't seem all that convinced but he doesn't say anything else and Louis is just grateful that he didn't have to explain the night  Liam and Zayn came over to pack up all Harry's stuff and he threw up curry for what felt like hours and hours.

Grief, he thinks, reduces us all to the most common denominator.  In his particular case, crouching in front of the toilet, knees aching from the cold, hard tile, desperately trying to remember a time when he didn't want to cry all the damn time.

Niall changes the subject, and Louis' gratefulness at the universe--or maybe just  Niall--grows. "Meet at your house at 8, Tommo?"

"Sure," Louis says, gingerly peeling himself off the floor. Suddenly this position reminds him a little too much of the other, even if there's no toilet, and thank  god, no curry to burn his throat coming up.

While Louis is gathering his stuff and pulling a beanie over his hair, he looks up to see Harry edging his way closer, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He's  thrown on the same jumper he was wearing last night, and it's oversized even on Harry. Louis can't imagine how much it would drown his much smaller frame, and he realizes then that Harry isn't buying things slightly too small for himself so Louis can wear them too. The realization hits him hard right in the solar plexus and he has to take a long breath, and then another.

"Harry," Louis says, glancing up when he's finally recovered. Minor setback, he tells himself. It's just a stupid fucking jumper, but even that hurts. Louis is sick of everything hurting. He can't wait for the day when it  finally stops.

"Are you sure you're going to be all set without help?" Harry asks.

Louis rolls his eyes, thankful he can return to some  sort of normal interaction between the two of them. Harry doesn't need to know about all the little things that still catch him unawares.

It turns out that grief isn't just that huge yawning chasm of missing someone so much your teeth literally ache; sometimes it's the tiny, most insignificant bits of a disintegrated life.

"I'm not incapable, you know," Louis insists. "I can have people over without making a mess of it."

"Of course you can." Harry seems particularly flustered. "I just. . .I want to help."

The question pops out of Louis' mouth before he can even consider the implications of what he's asking.  "Is that why you offered to cook?"

Harry actually blushes. "Well, um, yes, I guess." He hesitates and goes a shade redder. Louis is probably unfairly interested in this conversation now, because anything that can make Harry look like this is definitely worth exploring. "It's just. . .um. . .I want to help you."

"You said that already," Louis says, leaning against the tea table and crossing his arms across his chest. He attempts a bored expression, while in reality he is dying of curiosity.

"No, I mean. I want. . ." Harry looks stricken, but not quite stricken enough for Louis to let him off the hook. "You used to like it when I cooked."

Louis can't help the laugh that bubbles out of him at this gross understatement. "I fucking _loved_ it when you cooked,  Haz."

Harry looks very pleased at this. "Ah, well, that's good. Really good. I mean, I want to make you feel that way. Again." The corner of his mouth twitches. "All the time, actually."

Louis can't help but love the sound of that. He's missed having someone take care of him.

Okay, so that's not exactly true. For a Christmas gift two years ago, Liam gave him the services of a maid/housekeeper/cook for six months. At the time, Louis was over the moon, thinking it was the perfect gift, but as it turned out, he didn't really like having someone in his business all the time. He didn't like the way she'd look down on her nose at him for leaving dirty dishes overflowing on the coffee table or the way he'd track mud in on the carpet or that sometimes he wouldn't leave his warm, comfy bed  til 2 in the afternoon.

In the end, he'd written her a big check, buying both her absence and her silence to Liam. So if Louis is being way too specific, it's  Harry he's missed taking care of him.

"Maybe that's something we could do again, you know. Once in awhile, to start." Louis can't believe he's suggesting this, didn't he  just  feel like having Harry back in their kitchen was too much for him to handle? But he's saying it out loud anyway, and Harry is looking at him like he just hung the moon and the sun and the stars in the sky. It's too late to take it back, but he realizes it doesn't make him feel weird or anxious or  even  like he's having a heart attack. He feels. . .  _ happy  _ about it.

Maybe it's that it would be just the two of them and there'd be less awkward pressure than having the other three lads around, tiptoeing around all the other  times the group of them gathered to have dinner at  their house.

"Really?" Harry is happy but his tone is incredulous.

"Of course," Louis says like it's no big deal. "I know we're going on tour soon but maybe when we get back."

"That would be wonderful." Harry looks incandescent with happiness. "Like. . ." he pauses. "Like maybe even a . . . _ date_."

Louis is twenty seven years old. He's had this particular boy's dick in his mouth and in his ass more times than he can possibly count. But he actually honest to god blushes when Harry says the magical _d_ word.

"Uh, yeah. I guess." Louis can't believe he just said yes. And he can't really believe that Harry asked either, especially after last night's conversation.

"I know it seems. . .maybe a little sudden," Harry adds.

Louis just shrugs. "It's not like we've set an actual date and time. Sometime in the future."

"Nice and vague," Harry says with another massively dimpled smile. "Vague is good."

Louis is aware that the two of them are probably grinning at each other like idiots. This is absolutely confirmed when Niall wanders over and gives them both a firm once-over glance.

"Oy, you two," he says with a short barking laugh, shaking his head. "Stop flirting and get going. You'll see each other in a few hours anyway."

"We weren't flirting!" Louis exclaims, all faux-scandal at Niall's accusation, but Harry just laughs even harder, ruining all his good work.

"You just keep  tellin ' yourself that, mate," Niall says seriously, patting him on the shoulder. "Harry's going to split his face in two any moment now."

"I've got to run anyway," Louis admits. He's a bit scared for the state of his living room, with all the time he's spent at rehearsals. 

"Me too. I'm going to bake cookies." Louis is not surprised at all by  this pronouncement of Harry's. Sometimes it feels like Harry's default setting is "Susy Homemaker." He gives Louis and Niall a quick wave goodbye.

"He's practically a saint," Niall announces.

"It's just cookies," Louis whines as they exit the warehouse too. "It's not like he's baking you a tiered cake."

Niall snaps his fingers as they also make their way to the warehouse exit. "That's a grand idea. You should suggest it, and then I'll come over and eat it."

"I should suggest it?" Louis doesn't understand where this is going exactly, but he has a feeling he's not going to like it.

"Well, of course. I mean, Harry was all ready to cook you a fucking five course dinner. He's trying to win you back."

Louis starts laughing and can't seem to stop. He finally has to bend over and brace his hands on his knees to catch his breath again. "You're insane," he says fondly, reaching over to ruffle Niall's hair. "He's not doing it for me."

"That's where you're wrong," Niall insists as Louis unlocks the door to his Range Rover. "I can see it. And if you don’t want him back, you should stop him."

Louis hesitates. He's not sure how much he should share of his last few conversations with Harry. It's not as if Niall is a bad friend or would spread gossip around but they feel so private, so personal. Too special, almost, to talk about casually.

But Louis' silence says plenty anyway and Niall laughs knowingly. "Alright then, don't tell me. But he's definitely trying to win you back. "

Louis wonders if he should feel embarrassed, because he really isn't. He actually feels like a mature, well-adjusted adult, working through this with Harry. It feels like progress and growth and all those good things his mum is always on him about.

\-----

The living room may be the cleanest it's been since Harry actually lived here with him, Louis thinks as he surveys the results of the last two hours of work.

He almost can't believe he's spent two hours cleaning after exhausting himself completely at the dress rehearsal, but sue him, he wants everything to be perfect for their get together tonight.

Louis refuses to contemplate why he suddenly cares so much. Or why he just spent another twenty  minutes in front of the bathroom mirror,  fussing over his hair.

Or why he's changed his shirt three times now. He's finally settled on one that's blue and brings out his eyes and is a tiny bit tighter than the loose, baggy t-shirts he's been wearing to rehearsals.

There's nothing wrong with wanting to look good, he tells himself, especially when it just so happens his ex-boyfriend is coming over.

When he checks himself in his appearance one last time, he feels a breathless energy rushing through his veins that's entirely different than the resigned dread he felt last time he got dressed up for a man. He's just no good at the one night stand lifestyle. He's only good at the Harry Styles lifestyle, it seems.

The doorbell rings, and when he answers the door, Liam and Zayn come piling in the house, carrying bags and bags of food and some kind of special gourmet non-alcoholic spiced root beer that Liam found.  Louis just gives him a look as he lifts it proudly.

"That looks foul _and_ disgusting," Louis hisses as he and Liam go into the kitchen to get drinks and plates. "I have soda and water. You didn't need to bring that shit. Better not to mention beer at all than try to replace it."

Liam pouts. "I wanted to be  helpful, Louis. You know what that means, right?"

"I hardly think filling Harry up with pseudo-beer is a good idea," Louis  argues.

"Everything okay?" Harry's standing in the entrance to the kitchen and he looks very amused.

Louis and Liam glance up like deer in the headlights. Completely caught out.

"Harry! You're here!" Louis' voice goes high and bright. Harry's wearing a dark maroon jumper and it makes his skin look like clotted cream and his hair dark and lustrous. He's gorgeous and Louis is way too aware that he's clutching Liam's awful fake beer in his hands. He shoves it onto the counter and gives  Harry  the brightest smile he can. 

"Zayn let me in, hope that was okay," Harry says casually, prowling around the counter and giving the bottles sitting on the marble a thorough once-over.

"Of course, of course." Louis knows he is babbling. He  wants  to tell Harry that the root beer was Liam's idea, that he would  never be so thoughtless of Harry's recovery, but then Harry lifts his head and there's wonder in his eyes.

"Lou, did you find this?" he asks excitedly, palming one of the bottles with one of his huge hands.

Louis jaw falls open and behind the cover the high counter, gives Liam a rather forceful elbow jab, hopefully communicating that his _only_ job from now on is to be  silent.

"Yes, yes, I found it at the shop," Louis tries to act casual back, but the way Harry is beaming is making it rather difficult. He's also rather certain that Liam is currently rolling his eyes right now, which is sure to diminish his fabulous acting job.

"It looks wonderful. Would you mind if I have a pint?" Harry's got that cheeky look in his eye and Louis wants to fall to knees and beg him to put him out of misery, just take him up to bed  _now_.

Louis can wait, he definitely can, except when Harry's got that look in his eye, and then Louis turns to absolute mush. He doesn't even care that it's Liam's stupid root beer that put it there.

"Of course!" Louis' voice is still embarrassingly high. Maybe it's because all the blood in his entire body is in his dick right now. He's not leaving his spot behind the counter anytime soon, no matter how much Liam laughs at him.

"This was so thoughtful of you, Lou," Harry practically coos and Louis really wishes that Liam would just sink through the floor. Maybe then he and Harry could re-enact that evening a few weeks ago. He'd definitely be game.

Plain and simple, that jumper and the naughty tilt to Harry's lips have Louis so  weak.

"I'll just get the plates," Liam interjects, and Louis is sure that he is actually laughing at them, not probably all that differently than Niall was earlier at rehearsal. Are he and Harry really that painfully obvious?

"Niall better be here with the rest of the food soon, " Louis announces because he needs to keep his mind focused on something other than Harry looking like sin in their old kitchen.

Liam carries the plates and silverware out of the kitchen with a roll of his eyes, leaving Louis and Harry behind. Louis glances shyly up at Harry, who's drinking out of his bottle. "How is it?" he asks.

"It's good." The dimple in Harry's cheek has Louis' insides warm and crumbly, like apple cobbler. 

  
"Let me try it, " Louis insists. Harry tilts the bottle in Louis' direction and he grabs it, their fingers brushing together. It's not a proud moment, but Louis'  hand  trembles so much he nearly drops the damn bottle. Then he takes a quick drink, trying desperately not to think that Harry's lips were just  where his are now. His cock is thick and hard in his jeans and he wants Harry so much he can barely breathe.

The liquid sliding into his mouth takes care of all that in an instant, though. It's all Louis can do not to spit out the root beer all over the counter. "What the  fuck  is that?" he exclaims, lifting the bottle to examine it closer. "Is this actually meant for  _ drinking_?"  Louis can't help but glare accusingly at Harry. "You said it was good!"   


Harry's laugh bubbles up around them. "I was being nice," he admits shyly. "You were so sweet  to find it for me."

Louis feels absolutely no compunction in selling out Liam, who's not even here to defend himself. "Oh," he admits, "I didn't actually. That was  Liam."

Harry laughs even harder. "Of course it was." He doesn't look even the slightest bit surprised. The expression on his face is nostalgic and  unbearably fond. "Never change."

"Never intend to," Louis says in his haughtiest voice just as Niall walks into the kitchen, balancing four pizza boxes in his arms.

"Oh, Harry, of course you're in here,"  Niall says matter-of-factly.

Louis kind of wants to grumble about how they're totally not obvious, but he's not certain that's actually true anymore. Plus, Harry is still smiling, like he's the happiest he's been in years, and maybe, Louis realizes, he is. And god damn it, he's not going to be the one to ruin that. Not tonight.

Fifteen minutes later, the five of them are piled on the couch, and somehow Louis has ended squished onto the very edge. He's both happy and sad that Harry is all the way on the other side. Some deep, embarrassingly needy part of him wishes he was close to Harry, but Louis thinks  if they spent an entire movie night pressed up against each other, he might lose control completely.

And wherever they go after this, Louis knows he wants it to be right for Harry and for himself. He doesn't want to rush  and fuck it up. If you can make a relationship work through sheer determination, Louis is going to do just that.

They watch  _ Avengers: Age of Ultron  _ and even though it's Louis' five hundredth time through the movie, he enjoys it as much as he always does. He feels particularly blessed to live during a time when the Marvel commodities are being into such  crazy good films. It nearly completely eliminates the possibility of him going insane and attempting to go about it himself--though in his fantasies, the ones that don't involve Harry anyway, One Direction produces sick comic book movies on the side.

As the credits roll and Louis decides he's never moving from this couch, he remembers how the rehearsal went earlier today and thinks that maybe that alternative future isn't as far-fetched as he might once believed.

They may very well ruin their music careers with this tour, and the most pathetic part is they're all willing to do it--not because Harry threatened them, even, but because bringing a smile to his face is worth the risk.

"That's such a sick movie," Zayn breathes out as Niall clicks back to the DVD menu. "I think it's my favorite."

" _Iron Man _ is the best Marvel film," Liam objects. "I can't believe we're still arguing about this."

Louis could basically recite the next twenty minutes of conversation, but no matter how many times he's heard it, it's still ridiculously enjoyable, so he just lies back and listens. 

About ten minutes in, Zayn and Liam are now standing up, facing each other, actually yelling, and Louis is mildly alarmed. There's anger and frustration and something alarmingly close to sexual tension boiling in the air and Louis realizes this is probably why they usually have a few beers while in such close quarters. It tends to take all their edges off. But Liam and Zayn's edges are filed sharp right now, and Louis can't help but shoot Liam a few warning looks. He's kind of looking at Zayn like he wants to devour him whole, and if he wants to keep his secret, it might be advisable to keep those under wraps.

Louis doesn't even realize that Harry's scooted closer to him on the couch until suddenly their thighs are touching and Harry's curls are brushing his nose. "What is going on?" Harry leans in and whispers in Louis' ear.

Louis can feel Harry's warm breath against his neck and his grip on the edge of the sofa cushion tightens. "Honestly?" he whispers back, hoping to keep this light, even as he's mentally failing horribly. "I'm not really sure."

Harry is gazing at Liam and Zayn, who are both red-faced and practically breathing each other's air as they argue about Marvel and not about their own issues. It would be fascinating, Louis thinks, if it didn't have so much destructive potential.

Harry's voice is so quiet Louis can barely hear it. "I was always surprised that he married  Perrie."

"He  _ loves  _ Perrie," Louis retorts, equally as quiet.

Harry sighs. "Of course he does. But . . ."   


"Don't say it," Louis warns. "For the love of god, don't say it."

"Okay." Harry leans back, apparently completely obedient. Louis should be happy that Harry is willing to drop it so easily, but Harry is the least of his concerns right now. Which is really saying something.

"How about some ice cream?" Louis announces loudly, timing his words so that they fall into the lull of the argument, their only punctuation some rather heavy breathing.

Honestly, he's stuffed with Chinese and pizza and crisps and if he eats anything else, he may throw up, but he needs a distraction and food is usually a good one.

"I made cookies too!" Harry adds in just as loudly. "Really good cookies."

"That's like saying the sky is blue, Harry," Louis tosses out off-handedly as he drags himself off the couch and mentally curses confused bisexual boys who can't figure out what they want until it's far too late for everyone involved.

"Thanks, Lou." Harry's voice is bashful and cute. "You're so nice."

"He's not nice," Niall retorts. "Louis is a lot of things but he's not really nice."

"I'm really not. I mean, look at how I pick on Bernard." Louis is really trying here, even dangling out the possibility of making fun of him, which is not a carrot he would typically be willing to offer in  any  scenario, but Liam and Zayn are still facing off over his coffee table.  Louis is afraid that between one breath and the next, one of them will throw the other onto the flat surface and they'll have crazy hot sex.

Crazy hot  _ adulterous  _ sex, Louis reminds himself as he marches into the kitchen. He's always liked  Perrie. Even if he didn't, Liam and Zayn hooking up would be wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

Wrong, but so damn hot. Like the best porn in the universe.

Louis wants to crawl into the fetal position and weep. He's so horny could die, if he's actually still entertaining these thoughts.

These are his  _ best friends. _

"Louis?" Of course it's Harry.  Of course.

Louis realizes he's yanked open the freezer  door and he's staring at the full shelves but he's not pulled out the ice cream yet.

"Are you okay?" Harry asks, approaching the freezer.

"Fine, fine," Louis rambles, grabbing the vanilla, the chocolate and then triple fudge ripple because even though his thighs will hate him his next time on the treadmill, he really  needs  this.

Digging around in the cupboard, he finds the caramel sauce he knew he secreted away for a rainy day.

Except that it's not even raining; it's fucking pouring.

"Sure, you're fine," Harry says slyly, as he peers around Louis to see the massive sundae he's currently constructing.

Louis glares. It's not always nice to have someone around who knows you better than you know yourself.

Harry digs a single finger into the pooling caramel sauce in Louis' bowl, lifting it to his mouth, sucking it off slowly and Louis can't help it. He just groans. "That is absolutely not helping," he admits. "Not at  all."

"There is  rather a lot of tension in the living room tonight," Harry observes. "And not just ours."

"I liked it better when it was just ours," Louis gripes.

"That's because you like being the center of everyone's attention," Harry not-so-helpfully points out.

Louis ducks his head and grips the edges of the counter with his fists. It should not be so hot that Harry is flirting. It really, really should not be so incandescently hot that Louis can literally feel the blood beating in his cock. "Harry," he grinds out, "I am really trying here because you said waiting was what you wanted. But you are making it  impossible."

Harry is silent for a minute and Louis finally steals a look, afraid he's driven him away. But Harry is still standing there, in that unfairly beautiful jumper, looking like Snow fucking White, and he's  got the nerve to actually look _smug_. Louis wants to shove him against the counter again and kiss him until he can't possibly be smug a second longer. He wants to rub his cock against Harry's until they're both delirious and neither of them can remember their own names.

It's kind of a problem.

"Sorry," Harry finally says, but he doesn’t look even the slightest bit sorry. "I'll be good."

Louis groans.

"Actually good," Harry hastily corrects. "Here, let's change the subject." He grabs a spoon and dips it into the bowl of ice cream and caramel sauce. He proceeds to eat the spoonful the least sinful way that Louis has ever seen Harry eat anything creamy since he was sixteen. Louis takes it as a sign of good faith, even though the least sinful way still makes him throb in his pants. "Why don't you tell me why you don't eat curry anymore."

It's a statement, not a question. Louis wants to groan again, but surely telling this story must be better than either hoping that Zayn and Liam won't devour each other or Harry will stop flirting with him.

"It was about a year after you left," Louis admits, picking up his own spoon. The story might be better than the alternatives, but it still hurts. It might be impossible to make it through it without triple fudge ripple drenched in caramel. "I'm assuming you got the key to the storage locker. All your. . .stuff."

Harry nods, wide-eyed, and he clearly was not expecting this. But Louis forges on, because now that he's started, maybe it'll hurt less out than in. "That was the night Liam and Zayn came over and packed it up. And we ordered Indian, and I had the curry. A few beers too. The next morning when I woke up, Niall called me to see if I was okay--and I  wasn't. I felt like shit and I realized it must be so much worse  for you, because I had people, at least. I had Liam and Zayn and Niall. And you didn't have anybody anymore." Louis swallows hard. He is not going to cry. He is most definitely not going to cry. "I threw up over and over again. All the curry."

Harry is looking at him, and his green eyes are wet like the grass after a heavy rain.  "I'm sorry that I did that to you,"  he whispers softly.

"I'm sorry you did that to yourself," Louis answers, equally as soft.

It feels like a revelation for Louis. They've both suffered. They've both gone through hell and now they're emerging on the other side and even though it defies all logic, the only place Louis wants to be is right next to Harry.

Niall with his flawless timing chooses that particular moment to walk in to the kitchen. "Oy !" he shrieks. "You two,  _ again_."

Louis clears his throat. It's gotten awfully  froggy in the last few moments. "Just scooping up some ice cream."

"Well budge over, greedy. I want some too."

Harry laughs but it's a little damp and Louis reaches over and gives him a reassuring squeeze as they scoot over to let Niall at the ice cream. "Are you okay?" he asks quietly.

"I've never been better," Harry says honestly, and Louis has to look away because suddenly he's feeling a little damp himself.

"Where are the cookies?" Niall demands.

Louis takes advantage of the general Niall-food chaos to wander back into the living room to see if Zayn and Liam have killed each other yet.

They're sitting on opposite sides of the couch in silence and there's an awkward heavy tension in the air. Worse than before. "Everything okay, lads?" Louis asks as casually as he can. "You want some ice cream? I think  Haz made cookies too. Better get some before Niall eats them all."

Niall comes bounding in and he's got a half a cookie hanging out of his mouth. "Top cookies, guys. You should try some." Harry's following behind, and he sets the cookie tin on the coffee table, in easy reach of both Zayn and Liam, and takes a seat next to Louis.

Louis tenses for a moment, but then relaxes into the feel of Harry solid and real next to him. It feels good. It feels nostalgic but it feels brand new too. And if he's being honest with himself, it feels better than it ever has before.

Hesitantly, Liam reaches for a cookie, and takes a bite, chewing slowly.

"What should we watch next?" Louis asks because the tension is so thick he can barely stand it.

"How about  _ Spiderman_?" Harry asks hopefully and Louis turns to him with a big smile.

"Harry," Zayn objects, as he finally leans over and grabs his own cookie. The tension has begun to dissipate, finally, and Louis feels like can almost breathe easy. They've dodged that particular bullet. There's about another million coming for them, but they've got each other and that's the most important thing. "You're pretty much the worst."

"I like that movie," Harry argues, but everyone knows the truth. It's actually Louis' favorite movie.

" _Spiderman _ it is!" Louis crows before anyone can argue or potentially destroy the hard-won truce.

  



	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, what a few weeks, huh?
> 
> Sorry this took a bit longer to get to you than I anticipated. My H/L Winter Exchange fic keeps growing exponentially, but I'm super excited about it :)
> 
> Also I was definitely going to post this about an hour earlier, but well, Louis in a Gryffindor uniform happened and I cannot be held responsible for my meltdown after seeing those pics.
> 
> Lastly, Louis is a Slytherin. No arguments.
> 
> But onto Burn to Ash, this is the chapter that I think a lot of you have been wanting. And there will be a second flashback from the morning after this particular scene. So you have that to look forward to as well. AND more concert stuff AND more flashback smut!

**Liverpool. September 7, 2019.**

 

Louis is pretty sure he’s going to be sick.

 

Not like a little bit sick, a wrench of his stomach that he can work through on stage—no, he’s actually going to be full on sick, massively puking up his guts into this not very clean toilet.

 

Seriously that is something they should have added to the tour rider—please make sure you clean all bathrooms _thoroughly_ just in case Louis Tomlinson needs to spend an hour crouched over one of them.

 

The hard tile is digging into his jean-covered knees and the floor is freezing but he can’t seem to move, doesn’t even really remember staggering in here. It was after his hair got fixed and he’d dressed in his simple jeans and t-shirt that he’d decided to wear on the first night. It was then that what he was about to do hit him, and the big lunch he’d eaten had threatened to rise right up his throat.

 

So he’s been in here about an hour, give or take, and it’s kind of a surprise that nobody has found him yet, but just when he thanks _god_ that nobody has, the door creaks open and he hears heavy footsteps walking towards his stall.

 

Louis closes his eyes. He’d wanted it to be _anybody_ but who it is. “Lou,” Harry calls softly, “I know you’re in here. Are you okay?”

 

Louis grips the dingy toilet with the tips of his fingers, feels the ceramic edge dig into his skin. “Not really,” he mumbles.

 

“Should’ve told someone. Not just ran off.”

 

“Didn’t want anyone to know,” Louis confesses. _Especially you_.

 

“Don’t care. Should’ve done it anyway.” Harry’s voice tone is matter of fact and a little harsh. He rattles the stall door. “Let me in.”

 

Louis exhales and shakes his head before he realizes that Harry can’t see him. “No,” he says after an awkward pause. “Definitely no.”

 

Harry humphs and then is quiet for a moment. “I could probably break this down, you know,” Harry says, and the stall door suddenly rattles. Louis practically jumps out of his skin at the sound.

 

“I’m sure you could,” Louis snaps. “But that’d be rude.”

 

“Don’t care.” The door rattles again, harder this time, and for a split second, Louis actually considers hefting himself off the floor and bracing himself against the flimsy door in an attempt to prevent Harry’s forcible entry.

 

Not moving wins out by a very small margin but then the door jerks hard in its wimpy foundation and Louis has to reconsider. At this rate, Harry may actually pull the entire construction down and that isn’t going to look very good when everyone inevitably finds out.

 

He can see the headlines now. _One Direction destroys bathroom at tour venue._

 

Louis raises himself a little off the floor, to his knees, and reaches up to flick open the lock. The door swings open and Harry is standing there, wearing an obnoxiously patterned shirt ( _really, does anything ever change?_ Louis wonders).

 

“You’re a menace,” Louis growls out, dropping back to his original position and praying that sometime in the next few minutes his body finally decides what it wants to do. He’s getting rather annoyed with its indecisiveness.

 

Nevermind that at some point during this evening, he’ll have to get it together enough to go out on stage and sing for whoever’s actually decided to show up.

 

Harry crouches down next to Louis, eyes concerned. “You nervous?” he asks.

 

“No, I ate some bad shellfish,” Louis snaps.

 

Harry chuckles softly. “So nerves it is then.”

 

“Honestly, Harold. _Of course_ it’s nerves.”

 

“You have nothing to be nervous about, you know that, right?”

 

Louis glares at him.

 

Harry reaches forward and hesitantly places his hand on Louis’ back. “I’m serious,” he adds. “You’re great. You’re always great.”  


This is so patently false that Louis wants to laugh. “Actually, no, I’m not really. Not at all.” He pauses. “I mean, I’m just notthe same, you know? I’m not going to be the same. And they’ll all see it. They’ll see who I really am.”

 

Harry patiently waits as Louis finishes talking then looks him straight in the eye. His fingers tighten on the cotton material of Louis’ t-shirt. “How you really are is wonderful, Lou. They should feel _privileged_ to see you.”

 

“Harry,” Louis repeats, his patience wearing thin, “I’m a fucking wreck. It isn’t a privilege to see me. I’m almost embarrassed they paid money to see us.”

 

Harry just shrugs. “So we’re not perfect. We never were. If they really care, they should like seeing the truth better than a whole pack of lies.”

 

Louis hates how much sense Harry makes. His stomach settles a little. Maybe it’s that he’s distracted by Harry’s presence, but either way, it’s helping and he’s grateful.

 

“They’re still not going to like it when I can’t remember where to stand or what the lyrics are.”

 

“And?” Harry seems so unconcerned about this, Louis is a bit flabbergasted.

 

“You used to not give a shit what other people thought about you,” Harry says in a hard voice. “I can’t believe me leaving you changed that.”

 

Except that Louis knows it did. It’s easy to not care what people think when you’re on top of the world, and setting records and singing to hundreds of thousands of enraptured fans. It’s _so_ easy to just tune out the haters. But when you’re already down and everyone is speculating and wondering and _sympathizing_ it’s different. Things that wouldn’t have ever mattered before weasel their way under your skin, and suddenly, you’re susceptible to them.

 

Most of Louis’ tough skin evaporated when Harry left him and the rest of it vanished when Harry came back. Louis is a bleeding, exposed mess of feelings and vulnerabilities and the idea of going on stage and letting everyone see him like this is what makes him want to throw up everything in his stomach and _more_.

 

Harry has always put him a bit on a pedestal, knew his weaknesses maybe, but loved him so much he kind of glossed right over them. This is one huge weakness and he doesn’t want to confess it to Harry now, just when they’ve gotten into a better place.

 

He doesn’t want Harry to realize just how pathetic he is and leave him all over again.

 

“You leaving me changed everything,” Louis whispers into the toilet. He can’t face Harry when he says it. He just can’t.

 

Harry’s hand settles firm and large on his lower back. They’re still not entirely comfortable touching again, so Louis knows it means something when Harry touches. The warmth of his hand is almost unbearably reassuring.

 

“It’s funny,” Harry says wryly, his voice cracking a little with emotion, “because leaving you changed _nothing_ for me. Like anything I felt before, how much I loved you, I love you even more now.” He takes a deep breath. “I learned what I really had, with you. It isn’t something that comes around often, Lou. We were special.”

 

Louis has asked himself a thousand times why he can’t just move on. Maybe Harry is right. Maybe they _are_ special. Maybe the normal rules don’t apply to them.

 

Louis tightens his lips together and wills himself not to cry, not to break down. Throwing up would actually be preferable right now, but annoyingly this is the moment his stomach decides it wants to finally cooperate with the schedule of the day.

 

“I know you don’t want to hear this now, but maybe it’ll help,” Harry continues, a helpless edge to his voice, and it nearly kills Louis that Harry still might believe that his love is hopeless. “Maybe it’ll help you to know that there’s something who’ll be watching you tonight that loves you very much. The way you used to be, the way you are now. Every single version of you.”

 

And as suddenly as the warm hand settled on his back, it’s gone and even though he’s still facing the toilet, Louis hears Harry straighten. The bathroom door squeaks back open and for a split second, Louis thinks that maybe he’s actually left, but then he speaks softly one more time. “I believe in you, Lou. You can do this.”

 

And then the door bangs shut again and Louis can hear Harry’s footsteps echoing as he exits the bathroom.

 

Louis blinks away a few tears as he stares at the toilet. It seems his stomach has miraculously settled and suddenly he doesn’t want to spend one more moment crouched down here, pathetic and miserable. He wants to get past the worst of the anticipation and actually be on stage.

 

He freezes as he raises himself to his feet, knees creaky from the cold tile floor. He _wants_ to be on stage. He hasn’t wanted to be on stage in so long, so many years that it would make complete sense if he couldn’t remember the exact moment that he did. But he does. Because it was the last moment before everything went to hell and everything changed.

 

\-----

 

**Detroit, MI. August 16, 2014. Or really, really fucking early in the morning on August 17, 2014.**

Louis can’t find Harry. He can’t find him, he’s lost him, and there’s panic racing through his veins, and horrible thoughts are settling low and deep in his stomach. Awful thoughts, really, and the worst of it is that Louis isn’t sure what could even be true anymore.

 

Harry hasn’t been himself, has been distant and angry, frustrated and annoyed. And not just with the usual suspects, but sometimes with the other lads, and sometimes even with Louis. It’s not completely unprecedented, but the frequency has increased exponentially in the last month. And so has the drinking.

 

Louis doesn’t want to be that guy that’s trying to curtail his boyfriend’s good time. He likes partying as much as the next bloke, likes dancing and drinking, maybe not so much waking up the next morning with a headache and a dry mouth, but he’ll take it.

 

But Harry, Harry isn’t just socially drinking anymore. He still drinks with people maybe, but Louis knows deep down in his heart that he’s careening out of control.

 

When Harry drinks now, even socially, he doesn’t just drink to loosen up. He drinks to pass out. To _black_ out. To no longer feel _anything_.

 

So it’s not exactly a surprise that when Louis’ boyfriend is missing, and he’s had these rather self-destructive tendencies lately, that Louis is absolutely panicking.

 

He checks his phone again. Nothing. Nothing for the last three hours. Louis has been back and forth between the hotel and the venue twice now, and he knows he’s driving Alberto crazy with the details and the security of all of it, but in the last fifteen minutes, he’s seen the worry in Alberto’s eyes begin to blossom into something else. Seeing it makes the dread in Louis’ stomach crawl up his throat and threaten to come out even though he hasn’t eaten since long before the show started.

 

They’d argued a bit before the show. Harry had been pissed that Louis had to take some pictures with Eleanor, and instead of trying to understand that _Louis didn’t have a fucking choice_ , he’d gotten nasty and annoyed. Pissy, even. Jealous even though he knew he had absolutely no reason to be. Louis didn’t even like to _touch_ Eleanor anymore. It wasn’t that she was a bad girl, really, but he hated what she did to Harry. They both hated what she represented.

 

“I’m so sorry,” El had said to him as they’d faked smiles, hers bright and his little more than a pained grimace, practically a caricature of his normal easy-going grin.

 

Louis had sighed as they’d paraded in front of the venue entrance, fans cameras clicking constantly. He couldn’t believe that so many of them honestly believed in this charade, especially when he was barely putting in any effort whatsoever. He was actually a little worried about the future of these girls, that they actually believed in a shit relationship instead of even contemplating the possibility that there could be something else going on.

 

“I don’t want to come between you,” Eleanor repeated sympathetically.

 

“He’ll be fine,” Louis had insisted, probably rather optimistically. Harry had _never_ been fine with Eleanor, and his reaction to her was worsening every day. He just wished he could convince Cal to send her back to London. But Cal had been horribly adamant. Modest, those fucking bastards, wanted her all through the Midwest and Southern tour stops.

 

But clearly Harry isn’t fine. Right after the show, he’d managed to duck out and literally _nobody_ knew where he’d gone. He had a semi-decent fake ID that Louis had begged him not to use, and he _hadn’t_ as far as Louis knew. From the tenseness in his shoulders during the show, Louis knew that matters had probably reached a boiling point and tonight might be the time he took the risk. If the papers got even a _whiff_ of Harry and his ID, then Louis can only imagine how bad things could get.

 

Louis is wearing practically wearing a track in the hotel suite that Harry and he were supposed to share from his relentless pacing. Alberto had finally convinced him to come back here to stay, explaining that Harry probably wouldn’t return to the venue. He’d want Louis so he’d come to the hotel.

 

Louis planned a romantic room service dinner tonight after the show to try to make it up to Harry after their argument, but the food has long grown cold under the warmers. The flowers on the table are still lush and bright, but Louis can’t even look at them.

 

His phone rings and Louis practically jumps out of his skin. It’s Preston. The other bodyguards are out scouring the city for Harry and as Louis answers, he prays that Preston has news of Harry.

 

“I’ve found him,” Preston says in lieu of a greeting, voice flat and cold. “He’s . . .he’s pretty bad off, Lou.”

 

Louis’ stomach drops like a stone to the floor. His knees almost give out and he wobbles over to the edge of the bed, the palm on his phone sweaty with panic and shock and fear. “Should you take him to the hospital?”  


“I think if we get him back to you, maybe get him in the shower, get some food in him, he’ll sleep it off.” Preston doesn’t sound certain though, and Louis nearly _hates_ Harry at this moment. Hates what he is putting him— _them_ —through. The other lads are all worried sick, but their tenseness had only made Louis feel worse so he’d sent them off to their own rooms an hour ago, promising to text when he heard something. But he is _pissed_. So what if Harry is struggling with Eleanor being around. He has to fucking _deal_ with her personally. He’s the one who was branded a homophobic asshole. He’s the one who isn’t supposed to be even _friendly_ with Harry anymore because of the gay rumors. He’s shouldered as much of this burden as he can, and _even then_ , Harry can’t take it. He can’t even handle a stupid little fake parade and another hand in his.

 

Louis closes his eyes. “Bring him here then. I’ll deal with it.” Like Louis _always_ deals with it. So far they’ve managed to keep the worst of Harry’s drinking a secret from Modest. Cal knows, Louis thinks, but he’s letting Louis and the other lads handle it because he’s probably not even sure what to do about it.

 

Fuck it, Louis isn’t even sure what to do about it. He feels powerless and helpless. He feels like Harry is ruining his life and all Louis can do is stand back and watch hopelessly. It’s the worst feeling he’s ever experienced.

 

Louis would do _anything_ to get rid of Eleanor, not because she’s so awful, but because of what her presence does to Harry. He’d bankrupt himself suing the shit out of Modest, but every lawyer tells him the same fucking bullshit; he’d lose and he’d destroy One Direction in the process. And Louis loves Harry so much, so fucking much, but that’s too high of a price to pay. But sometimes late at night, when Harry’s snoring next to him, sleeping off yet another binge, Louis contemplates it. Wonders how much the rest of the lads would end up hating him. Wonders if he and Harry would even survive it.

 

Sometimes he wonders if he and Harry will even survive _this_.

 

Ten agonizing minutes later, there’s a discreet double knock on the door. It’s Alberto’s signal. Louis is there in a moment, and there’s Harry, fucking wasted in Preston’s arms. His face is loose and slack and his eyes completely unfocused.

 

Preston eyes him with so much sadness that Louis wants to curl up in a ball and cry. But Louis can’t fall apart, he _can’t_. Not when Harry’s doing all the falling apart for both of them.

 

“Put him in the bathroom,” Louis says.

 

He follows behind, not trusting himself to even touch Harry’s dangling, limp foot. Preston sets Harry gently down on the floor next to the toilet. Harry gives Louis a weak grin and then falls over, completely slumping onto the ground. Louis feels like his heart is being ripped in half.

 

“Thank you,” he tells Preston. “Where was he?”

 

“Not in a club, actually. Some volunteer security guy was having a party at his house. I had to wipe a few phones, but I don’t think it’ll get out.”

 

Louis has never been so agonizingly angry in his entire life. “Do you know how he found out about it?”

 

Preston looks grim. “Yeah, there were some other tour people there. I think they took him with them.”

 

Louis feels his temper spike, but he can’t deal with that right now. Right now he has a very drunk Harry to deal with. Unfortunately he has a lot of experience in the last few months of dealing with very drunk Harry and he knows exactly what to do.

 

“Two hours,” Louis says through tight lips. “Two hours and I want every single fucking person we pay for the tour at the venue. I want to talk to them.”

 

“Louis,” Preston protests, but Louis shuts him up with a single, scorching look.

 

“Make it happen,” Louis says. “Alberto will get me there.”

 

“Will the other boys want to be there?” Preston asks and Louis considers it for a single moment, but then gives a single, very final, shake of his head. He doesn’t want them to witness this. This is between him and Harry. He’s got to fix this, if he even can.

 

“Just me,” Louis says.

 

For a moment, Preston looks like he wants to argue, but then his face closes over. “Okay. Two hours.” He turns to leave, but then pauses, glancing back at Louis. “Louis? You know, you don’t have to do all this on your own.”

 

Preston is wrong, Louis thinks. _Of course_ he has to do this on his own. He can’t help but feel responsible for why Harry is struggling with all of this.

 

Preston leaves the bathroom and Louis finally looks down at Harry again. His head is lolled to the side and his eyes are still completely unfocused. Louis knows what he has to do, what he _needs_ to do, but he waits until he hears the distinct click of the suite door shutting. Preston probably knows what he’s going to do but there’s a huge difference between knowing and witnessing. And nobody can see this—only Louis.

 

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he sinks to his knees and gently cradles Harry’s head in his palms. “Haz,” he says insistently. “Need you to let me do this.”

 

It isn’t until Louis is lightly but insistently forcing open his jaw that Harry seems to realize what his goal is, and then he jerks back suddenly. But Louis is unfortunately an old hand at this by now, and he’s been expecting it so he’s got his legs braced against the cabinet. Before Harry can react, Louis shoves his fingers down Harry’s throat. It’s both fortunate and unfortunate that Harry’s gag reflex has been almost completely eliminated from deep throating Louis’ dick and he has to work so hard for this. But he finally knows the moment Harry is about to lose it and he positions Harry’s head over the toilet and closes his eyes as the first wave of vomiting starts.

 

The smell is acrid and awful and it gets worse as Harry heaves and heaves, emptying his stomach into the toilet bowl. Louis flushes twice, and raises Harry’s head a few times to wipe his mouth and whisper reassuringly in his ear.

 

He stays calm and relaxed for Harry because right now that’s what Harry needs, but inside, Louis’ anger is boiling out of control.

Harry finally stops vomiting after what feels like an eternity, and Louis cleans him up as best as he can with a washcloth he wets from the sink. Then he hefts him up, cursing under his breath at how fucking heavy he is, and props him up against the counter. “Time to brush your teeth, Harry,” Louis says calmly, betraying not a whiff of how truly pissed he is that he has to treat his boyfriend like a fucking child. Harry ignores him, isn’t even really conscious anymore, and Louis finally has to wet the toothbrush and do it himself.

 

Louis wishes he could say that’s the worst thing he’s ever had to do for Harry when he’s been drunk.

 

He finishes brushing Harry’s teeth and drags Harry out of the bathroom to the bed.

 

“Flowers!” Harry exclaims as Louis dumps him on the edge of the bed, hoping he’ll stay upright and not fall over. He’s done that before. Louis supposes it’s practically a miracle that he hasn’t accidentally killed Harry yet.

 

Or maybe it’s just a miracle that Harry hasn’t accidentally killed _himself_.

 

Louis didn’t even realize that Harry was conscious enough to register the flowers, but he can’t bring himself to smile. Harry was supposed to be sitting at the little table with him earlier tonight, leaning forward to smell them, smiling sweetly at his boyfriend and how thoughtful he is. Instead, all Harry was doing was getting so drunk he couldn’t remember his boyfriend at all.

 

“They were for you,” Louis says flatly. He leans down at Harry’s feet and pries off his boots. Raising on his haunches, he unbuckles Harry’s belt and yanks down his jeans next, struggling a bit with how ridiculously tight they are.

 

Sometimes Louis thinks Harry tries to make himself as sexy and outrageous as possible just to torment him. Harry _knows_ Louis can’t acknowledge him, can’t let himself be publicly bowled over by how gorgeous his boyfriend is. But he still tries anyway and Louis isn’t sure whether that’s sweet or sad.

 

Maybe it’s a mixture of both.

 

“Beautiful,” Harry croons, and Louis glances up from where he’s trying to wrestle off Harry’s plaid shirt. At first he assumes Harry is talking about the flowers, but now Harry’s attention is all focused on him, and he’s pointing with a silly grin to Louis’ face. “So blue.”

 

“Yes,” Louis huffs, not nearly as annoyed as he should be, “my eyes are blue.”

 

“Beautiful,” Harry giggles. “So beautiful.”

 

Louis feels himself soften a little and he lets himself go for a minute, lets the strict control he has to keep of himself right now fade a little. He wraps his arms around Harry’s broad middle and rests his head against Harry’s smooth skin. He can hear his heart beating and he wishes he could just steal them both away. Wishes they could just run away, abandon this tour and the band, and find themselves again. He’s never really wanted worldwide fame and more money than he knows what to do with. Lately, all he wants is Harry.

 

But things are set in motion that he can’t undo, even if he was insane enough to try.

 

“Love you,” Louis mumbles into Harry’s skin, wishes he could wrap the words around Harry like an armor until he didn’t care anymore about anything else.

 

Harry lets out a wet snuffly groan and it jerks Louis back to the present and to the time limit that’s rapidly dwindling down. He pulls his phone from his pocket, checking the time. He’s got a little over an hour before he needs to be at the venue to meet with the tour staff and he’s got to get Harry settled before then.

 

He drags Harry back onto the bed and tucks him beneath the covers. Fetching a bottle of water from the mini fridge, he holds it up to Harry’s lips and coaxes him into drinking the whole bottle. Then another one. He places a third bottle on the bedside table, with three ibuprofen for when Harry inevitable wakes up with a horrible hangover.

 

Louis stays in bed next to Harry as his snores resonate loud and even through the room. He seemed bad when he arrived, but Louis feels pretty confident that he’ll be okay. He got the majority of the alcohol out of Harry’s stomach and he got quite a bit of water in him. He should be okay if he leaves him for a few minutes. But Louis knows Preston was right and this was a bad night. Louis doesn’t want to, but he dials Liam’s number.

 

Liam answers on the second tone. “Preston told me you had Harry,” Liam says. “Is he okay?”

 

“As okay as he can be,” Louis says, and he can’t seem to help the bleakness in his tone. How can he fix Harry when Harry doesn’t seem to want to be fixed?

 

He’d love to get Harry to rehab but there is no way Modest will ever allow that right in the middle of a stadium tour. Louis isn’t sure they’d allow that _period_.

 

“I’ve got to go do something,” Louis continues. “I don’t want to leave him though. He’s sleeping it off but I’d feel better if someone was here watching. Just in case.”

 

Liam doesn’t even hesitate. “Of course. I’ll be right there.”

 

Ten minutes later, there’s Alberto’s knock on the door and Louis opens it to Liam, who’s bundled in a black jumper, the hood pulled over his head. Harry is still snoring away, but they stay huddled in the entrance of the suite, as if they might wake him. Louis knows different, knows that probably a zombie invasion couldn’t wake Harry at this point, but he lets Liam have his delusions because if he explained, then he might have to explain just how bad Harry’s gotten. The boys know, of course they do, but Louis isn’t sure they really understand just how difficult it’s been.

 

“What do you have to do?” Liam asks.

 

Louis was afraid of this question. “Gonna go run and grab some food real quick. Get some fresh air. I just. . .I need a minute.”

 

Liam doesn’t need to hear another word. “Of course. Go. I’ll watch him and text you if anything changes.”

 

Louis wonders if he should feel bad about lying to Liam. He’ll probably find out tomorrow about this meeting, and be pissed, but Louis really can’t let the others be there tonight. If they’re there, he’ll go easy and he absolutely cannot. He can’t risk the chance of this happening again and Preston never finding Harry. He can’t take the chance that Harry someday will drown in his own vomit and Louis isn’t there to save him.

 

The drive to the venue is silent. Alberto isn’t saying a word and for that, Louis is very, very grateful. Besides, it’s not like there’s much else left to say, anyway. Alberto probably doesn’t approve of what he’s about to do, but Louis feels like he’s at the end of his rope. To save Harry, Louis knows, he would do just about _anything_ —and tonight, he’s reached the _anything_ point.

 

Preston has gathered everyone in one of the large green rooms. There’s about fifty people in the room, all clearly exhausted and most of them look like they’ve been pulled from their beds. Louis conjures up a picture of Harry’s dead white face in a gutter somewhere and lets the fear coalesce into anger. It only takes a moment.

 

He’s not tall. He’s not normally an intimidating figure. But when it counts, Louis knows exactly how to make himself terrifying.

 

He pulls out all the stops tonight. Lets his eyes go wild and furious, lets his head tilt in that particularly vindictive way, adopts his cruelest, most awful tone of voice. He’s just at the edge of his self-control and he’s scared his desperation is showing.

 

He doesn’t want them to sympathize with him; he wants them to be frightened of him.

 

“Do you know how lucky you are to be employed on this tour?” he starts with. Some of these people have worked with them since Up All Night. Some of them are more family than employees. Some of them are still rolling their eyes. Louis wants to burn all them all to the ground.

 

“I want to make something perfectly, absolutely clear. You _are_ lucky to be employed by us. Jobs aren’t always easy to come by. I know that. I know some of you have families and wives and kids at home. I know some of you need this work. I do not want to be the one to have to fire you.” He pauses for dramatic effect, letting his threat sink in. “But I absolutely fucking will.”

 

“Tonight, Harry got ahold of more alcohol than any one person should have. He’s clever and sneaky when he wants something. Sweet and charming. I’m here to tell you that I don’t care how much he bats his eyes or smiles at you or promises you more money than you’ve ever seen in your life. If you give him one drop of fucking alcohol, one _beer_ , I will destroy you. I will ruin you. I will not only fire you, I will make fucking sure that you never work in this industry _ever_ again.”

 

He sees eyes widen, mouths go slack and he absolutely knows that his threat was taken seriously. They believe he’ll do exactly what he says, and Louis isn’t sure right now that he _wouldn’t_. But it’s enough that they believe him.

 

He sweeps out of the room like the diva he’s never been. When he’s in the hallway, his legs give out and he has to brace himself against the wall. His hands are trembling and he feels like he might be sick for about the hundredth time tonight.

 

Alberto is there, of course and he lays a hand on Louis’ shoulder. “Okay?” he asks.

 

Louis is not okay. They both know that. But Louis appreciates the veneer of normalcy. “No, but I will be,” he vows, even though he knows that it’s probably hopeless. He has to be able to tell himself (and maybe Harry) someday that he did everything he could. He loves Harry _that_ much.

 

\-----

 

**Liverpool. September 7, 2019.**

Louis’ hand is trembling so hard he can barely hold the mike, but his voice sounds strong and clear as they belt the chorus to the opening song. The crowd is a bit calmer than they were five years ago, but as it turns out, so are they and it still works as well as it always has.

 

He switches hands and glances out at the crowd. The five of them are fanned out across the front of the stage and as Louis looks down, he sees the same faces smiling up at him. They’re a little older, but they’re still there for him. He’s still there for _them_. It was always kind of a symbiotic relationship and Louis is a little surprised to discover that the fans are just as happy to see him as he is to see them.

 

He doesn’t dare risk a glance in Harry’s direction until the third song. He’s kind of afraid he’ll give away his feelings if he does and he’s also terrified to look over and see that Harry is struggling or unhappy or isn’t being received well by the fans. He’s been through so much over the last five years and Louis wants this more than anything for him, wants him to be _happy_.

 

And, _fuck it_ , Louis thinks suddenly, _he_ wants to be happy too. He wants to be loose and carefree and not worry anymore. They’ve made it through that horrible part and in the end they only _kind_ of let it destroy them. They’re still here and they’re still alive. And they might not technically be together still, but they’re both circling each other and Louis wonders how inevitable it is that one of them will break down. His happy ending might be a few years late, but it seems it wasn’t completely hopeless after all.

 

He looks at Harry then, and feels happiness bloom in his own chest at the absolute euphoria on his face. Harry looks like he belongs on the stage, moving his long limbs in his wacky dance moves, singing his heart out.

 

Louis’ hand stops shaking on his microphone during the fifth song and he doesn’t even notice until the seventh.

 

By the finale, he’s feeling just as fucking euphoric as Harry looks. In fact, in spite of missed cues and a rather awkward speech transition and a load of other things they will _have_ to improve on, Louis feels _really_ good about the show. He realizes he even wants to _thank_ Harry for making them do this.

 

He waits until after the first sweaty group hug. He waits until they’ve thanked their much smaller staff back in the green room. He feels the inevitable pang of embarrassment when he realizes that there’s not a single one he recognizes from that horrible speech he made five years ago. He waits until after Bernard has given them their notes and they’ve laughed them off per usual. He waits until Harry’s sorting through his bag, eating a banana with one hand and pawing through his clothes he’s brought to the venue with the other.

 

“Harry,” Louis says softly, approaching him carefully. It isn’t often these days that Louis approaches Harry. Mostly it’s the other way around, and Louis has to wonder if Harry has realized this too.

 

Of course he has, and of course it shows in his face when he turns and sees Louis standing there, awkwardly holding his hands in front of him.

 

“Great show, Lou,” Harry says casually, but Louis knows Harry far too well. He can see the nervousness hiding in his eyes, maybe even the fear that Louis will say something cruel and cutting. The acceptance that he will probably deserve it.

 

“I want to thank you,” Louis says, not even attempting for casual, going full-on serious, which makes Harry’s eyes widen so beautifully. “I want to thank you for what you did. Making us do this. I never would have otherwise and it would have been a real shame.”

 

Harry’s face lights up like it’s Christmas. “You belong up there, Lou,” he says fervently, nearly worshipfully. “You should never have hid yourself away.”

 

Louis doesn’t agree; he needed to hide away for at least a little while. Needed to find himself again. Needed to find who he was without Harry. But now that he has, it’s funny that all he seems to want is Harry again.

 

“Maybe,” Louis says a little more lightly. “But seriously. Thank you. And thank you for tonight. I needed that little boost.”

 

“I meant every word,” Harry says seriously.

 

Louis thinks about playing it off as a joke, but decides that what’s between them is too important to joke about. Harry needs to know how he feels. “I know.” He pauses, and leans forward, closing the distance between them. He drops a kiss on Harry’s cheek and can’t even help himself, he lingers for a second, breathing in the smell of Harry’s shampoo and his sweat. It’s an intoxicating combination and Louis feels dizzy with it. He finally pulls away and gives Harry the brightest smile he can. “Thank you again.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I love reading your comments good OR bad, so leave me some, guys!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was so delayed! My H/L winter exchange fic took on absolutely monumental proportions.
> 
> Everyone has been so amazing and supportive of this story, it warms my heart. And to the person who sent me an anon ask on tumblr, telling me how well I was portraying Harry's alcoholism, I want to give you a huge hug. I also want to thank everyone who's stuck with me this far, I know that progress has seemed slow and halting at points, but things will really start moving now. Promise!
> 
> Hope to get another chapter up by the new year, but I'll be traveling and seeing family so we'll see how that goes.

It happens for the first time during the third show of the tour.

 

Louis still isn’t comfortable with Harry. He thinks it’ll take a lot more than a few stilted conversations to make that happen, though if it’s going to, it makes the most sense for it happen while they’re on tour. Touring seems to break down the walls of most normal people, and the five of them never had great personal boundaries to begin with.

 

So it happens on the third night. The first night had been good, the second fairly tolerable. But it’s on the third night that they really hit their stride, and Louis refuses to even contemplate the possibility that The Incident, as he refers to it in his mind, with about a billion exclamation points after it, is the cause for why they fucking smash it.

 

But they do.

 

It starts like this.

 

They’re on stage. The opening chords of _They Don’t Know About Us_ are rippling out of the speakers and Louis glances over to his right, and at that particular moment, he doesn’t really think about why he does it. It’s only later that he realizes he _knew_ Harry was supposed to be standing there. And of course, Harry is shyly glancing over to his left, towards Louis, though that isn’t so much of a surprise, because according to Niall, Harry low key stares at him all the time. Louis has considered telling Harry that it’s kind of weird for him to do that and he’s not comfortable with it, but he hasn’t decided yet if that’s entirely true or not, so he’s stayed quiet.

 

But fuck, he _knew_ Harry was going to be standing to his right, was going to be staring, and he looks over anyway. Later, he can’t help but wonder if that was the exact fucking reason he does it. Once he looks over, glance shy and more than a little coy, he sees Harry staring right back, nearly the exact same expression on his face.

 

Every other time before when Louis has caught him actually fucking _staring_ , Harry’s looked away, blush high on his cheekbones, ashamed at being discovered. But there’s zero shame on his face now, his blood hot from the show, and he pretty much unapologetically stares right back at Louis, love and lust and want and need mingling in his eyes.

 

Louis feels all those things too. He just isn’t comfortable with them. He isn’t sure yet that he should be feeling them _or_ even expressing them. But they’re on stage right now. There’s thousands of people in front of them and somehow, some way, it’s okay. It’s okay to stare right back, so Louis does.

 

Maybe it’s the crowd as a buffer or what, because he not only stares, but then he realizes his legs moving and it turns out he’s sauntering right over to Harry, who can’t even hide his surprise to see Louis approaching, all laidback movements and a come hither gaze.

 

So it kind of happens that Louis ends up singing nearly all of his verse of _They Don’t Know About Us_ right to Harry. Not to the audience. Not to the other boys. But to Harry, who the song was always meant for, always reminded him of, which was probably why it was always expressly forbidden.

 

Harry sings the song right back, confusion melting right into something downright giddy. Fuck it, Louis thinks as they belt the chorus, practically sharing the same air, he’s going to do the kind of things they never got to before, so he actually grabs Harry’s hand and tucks his own much smaller fingers into Harry’s much larger ones.

 

The stage lights are hot and they’re damp with sweat, their palms sliding together, but Louis knows this is one of the best moments of the last five years, hands down. It’s exhilarating and terrifying but it’s also fucking freeing too.

 

Camera flashes are going off like crazy, and there’s definitely an uptick in the screaming and clapping at the end of the song. It isn’t until Louis glances over to Liam, who is literally staring at their clasped hands with his jaw dropped that Louis realizes just how much he’s overstepped. He’s been so careful since Harry came back to limit their physical contact—that one really ill-advised kiss withstanding—but now he’s inviting it and he’s inviting it in literally the most public arena he can find.

 

Later, while he lays awake in his hotel bed, sleepless and anxious, Louis wonders if maybe that’s what made it okay. The stage, where they once indulged every foreplay fantasy and then were restricted until they couldn’t even glance in each other’s direction, is somehow a great equalizer.

 

Louis tells himself that it shouldn’t happen again—it _can’t_ happen again. It would be weird. The first time, he couldn’t even face Harry afterwards, escaping to the bus, and hiding out in his bunk before ducking into his hotel room after everyone else has long since gone to bed.

 

But of course it happens again. And again. And again. Once it starts, it’s like a flood breaking free, and it doesn’t stay restricted to _They Don’t Know About Us._ It trickles in, slowly but surely, into a lot of the other songs.

 

After the Dublin show, Zayn asks him matter-of-factly over a bowl one night if he realizes that he’s singing most of the show to Harry, and that the rumors are flying fast and thick that they’ve re-kindled their relationship.

 

“All I’m saying, you look pretty cozy together on stage,” Zayn finishes, carefully watching Louis out of the corner of his eye. Louis realizes that Liam and Niall probably appointed Zayn to ask the question, and that Zayn’s deliberately asked it during the one time where Louis might really be honest about how he’s feeling.

 

The problem is that Louis doesn’t really know how he’s feeling.

 

He can’t even explain it to himself. He knows he probably should try to explain it to Harry, who’s probably confused as hell right about now, but figuring it out for himself is the first step of that. And no matter how many nights he’s lain awake, wracking his brain as to why he feels so compelled to interact with Harry this way on stage, but can barely even talk to him when they’re off-stage, Louis can’t come up with any kind of satisfactory answer.

 

So he just shrugs, no doubt disappointing Zayn and _greatly_ disappointing Liam and Niall, who are like a pair of gossipy old ladies.

 

“You do realize what people think, right?” Zayn points out, again so carefully Louis wants to snap at him that he’s not made of fucking glass, okay? He’s fine. Well, as close to fine as can possibly be expected.

 

But these _have_ definitely been two of the better weeks of the last few years so maybe fine is actually a pretty accurate statement.

 

“I don’t care what people think,” Louis retorts, though that’s not completely true.

 

“Okay,” Zayn continues steadily. “How about what Harry thinks?”

 

“Does Harry not like it or something?” Louis asks in a panic, suddenly horribly worried that he’s been practically _forcing_ himself on Harry while they’re on stage. Of course, Harry looks like he loves every minute of it, but that could be an act. Louis doesn’t think it is, but he’s been wrong before.

 

“Harry hasn’t said a word,” Zayn says. “But aren’t you even the tiniest bit worried that you’re leading him on?”  


Actually, Louis doesn’t worry about that at all. He knows it’s probably inevitable that they’ll eventually come to an agreement and they’ll either become close friends again, or maybe even more. Eventually, he will probably forgive Harry.

 

Besides, he’s done nothing on stage that couldn’t be _really_ constituted as anything more than platonic. Some of their looks have been a little scorching but then Liam and Zayn were never more than just friends and they’ve practically fucked on stage.

 

“Nope.”

 

“And you really don’t know why you’re doing it.” Zayn sounds a little disbelieving, which is honestly ridiculous. He should know Louis better. Typically, Louis isn’t the introspective type, though in this particular case, he really is trying.

 

“I actually have a theory,” Zayn offers before Louis can even respond.

 

“Well, let’s hear it then,” Louis says somewhat testily, though secretly he’s quite curious. Zayn can be a rather keen observer of human nature. Maybe he’s somehow picked up something about Louis that Louis himself doesn’t understand.

 

“You want to get closer to Harry. The stage is a safe place for you to do that because you can only go so far and he can only react so much. Apparently, you need like a several thousand person buffer.”

 

This makes way too much sense. Louis scowls. “You make me sound emotionally constipated.”

 

Zayn just shrugs.

 

“Well, it’s _one_ theory,” Louis gripes, annoyed that Zayn has figured him out so damn easily. He wonders if maybe the next concert, he’ll naturally interact with Harry less, now that the mystery’s been solved.

 

\---

 

As it turns out, he doesn’t. He feels even _freer._

At one point, during _She’s Not Afraid_ , Louis actually wraps his arm around Harry’s waist, tucking it right where it narrows, a spot that used to be one of his favorites. Harry glances shyly over at him, happiness radiating out of him until he’s fucking glowing. Louis loves watching him like this, alight with joy, and it makes his heart ache with all the time they’ve wasted.

 

It feels like too much to just stand here now and feel _happy_ when there’s been so much pain, but it also feels like the first delicate ray of sunshine after a storm. And Louis wants to bask in it, feels they deserve to bask in it, so he does. He doesn’t pull away, and Harry’s smile grows even brighter.

 

After they’re off stage, Louis is about to escape as he usually does, terrified that Harry will call him out on his behavior and ask for some kind of explanation—or even worse, ask him to stop—but this time Harry is clearly determined. He corners Louis near his duffle, boxing him in so neatly that it’s clear he’s been letting Louis get away with avoiding him. That stings a bit. Louis’ heart is beating so hard he’s sure Harry can hear how each and every thump is echoing his name.

 

“Wanna talk to you,” Harry says, managing to bashfully flutter his eyelashes over his apple green eyes, even though he’s got a good handful of inches on Louis.

 

Louis tries to ignore the panic thundering through him. “Okay,” he says but he doesn’t look up because Harry is so tempting this close and Louis knows he’s weakening.

 

“Want to introduce you to someone, actually.”

 

Louis’ pulse slows a little, then accelerates when he realizes what this actually sounds like. Is Harry dating someone? Has Louis taken too much time, dawdled too long, vacillated when he actually knew exactly what he wanted, he was just too afraid to reach out and take it for himself?

 

Harry laughs, breaking into Louis’ panic attack. “Lou, you should see your face,” Harry giggles. “My god. There’s nobody you need to be jealous of. It’s a friend. An important friend, though.”

 

“I. . .uh. . .um. . .” Louis stammers, embarrassed that the jealousy was written so blatantly across his face. But then he shouldn’t be so surprised; he was always shit at hiding his emotions when it came to Harry.

 

Harry grabs Louis’ arm so casually that Louis wonders for a split second if he even _realizes_ that they’re not on stage anymore, and it isn’t supposed to be the same. But then Louis looks closer at Harry’s face and the truth hits him dead on, like a lightning bolt to the brain: Harry doesn’t _care_ if they’re on stage or off. He just wants to touch Louis. Wants him however he can have him. Whatever Louis permits him. And when Louis doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even blink at the pressure of Harry’s fingers around his forearm, he doesn’t move them.

 

And that’s okay. It’s really okay. It’s still safe. They’re in the green room. There’s a dozen people milling about, including the man that Harry is currently dragging him towards.

 

He’s not quite six foot, because he’s an inch or two shorter than Harry, with dark hair and dark, kind eyes, and a sad, rather worn face that looks as if it’s been truly lived in—has seen the good and bad that life has to offer.

 

“Louis,” Harry says breathlessly, and that’s Louis’ second indication that this is in fact truly an important introduction, “this is Brian.” He glances shyly over at Louis. “Brian was my sponsor. He’s the one who was finally able to help me.”

 

Brian extends a hand and gives Louis a warm smile. A welcoming smile. There is no judgment in that smile. He clearly knows their history though, and knows how important Louis was to Harry. “Louis, it’s an honor. Great show tonight.”

 

Louis doesn’t care that he’s probably going to embarrass himself and Harry and likely Brian too. This is the man who saved Harry’s life. This is the man who made it possibly for Harry to return to him. Louis doesn’t even resent that Brian was able to do what Louis wasn’t. He clasps Brian’s hand in both of his, looking at him dead in the eye and says simply, bluntly, “thank you.”

 

Brian blinks once, twice, and Louis hopes it registers that he’s not thanking him for the compliment on the concert, but for the much greater good he’s done.

 

“Like I said,” Brian says, his smile settling into deep brackets around his mouth, “it was absolutely an honor.”

 

Louis glances over at Harry, and he’s just as emotionally affected as Louis, but Harry’s always been more comfortable with displaying it in public. There’s a wet sheen in his eyes, and Harry is staring at him like he’s the most precious thing he’s ever had the privilege to know.

 

Louis knows he doesn’t really deserve that much love, but he’s selfish enough to want it anyway. Nobody has ever loved him the way Harry does. Their relationship wasn’t perfect, by any means, but Louis never found it difficult to return Harry’s love because his own was so immense.

 

_Is_ so immense, Louis mentally corrects, his own throat growing a bit as his gaze meets Harry’s. He’s afraid he might actually drown in the look in Harry’s eyes.

 

That look makes him want to cuddle Harry close. It makes him want to pin Harry to the wall and make him fall apart with his hands and his mouth. It makes him want to forgive Harry more than he even wants to breathe.

 

But Louis knows he’s not ready yet, so he changes the subject. “Are you traveling with us then?” he asks Brian.

 

“For awhile yeah. Couldn’t join you all right away, unfortunately. It was a bit hard to leave my clinic.”

 

Louis is interested even though he tries to tell himself that he’s not. He wants to know more about Harry’s life during the last five years, and he’s not quite prepared to ask Harry about it, even though deep down he knows that would be the absolute fairest thing for him to do.

 

“I’d like to hear more about it,” Louis says before he can talk himself out of it because he finds that he actually _does_ want to hear more about it and only mostly because of Harry. “Maybe we can grab a bite this week.”

 

Brian looks like he wants to ask Harry if this is okay, but he gives a simple nod without saying a word. Louis wonders if they had some non-verbal exchange, and Harry let him know it was okay. “That would be good,” Brian says. “I was hoping we could be friends.”

 

_This_ surprises Louis. _Friends_. It must show on his face because Brian laughs self-deprecatingly. “I mean, I’m such good friends with Harry, it makes sense.”

 

It’s funny that even though they’ve technically been broken up for five years, everyone still sees Harry and Louis as a single, connected entity. Louis supposes he isn’t even really that astonished.

 

Bernard approaches their group then, and Louis has never wanted to tell him to fuck off more than he does right now, but then instead of insisting that he needs _both_ Harry and Louis, he only drags Harry away. Louis is left with Brian and it should be awkward but it isn’t. Louis has known this man for less than five minutes but it’s very clear to him that they both love and care for Harry Edward Styles.

 

Brian gives him a small smile. “I hope you weren’t too hard on him,” he says.

 

For a split second, Louis wonders if Brian _really_ means that. Harry fucking left Louis for five long years. Yeah, Harry had problems and reasons, but he still just _left_. Louis is about to say just that, and also add that anything he’s done to Harry in the last few months has been plenty _deserved_ , but Brian scrubs a hand over his face and is laughing with a definite self-deprecating edge.

 

“God, I swore to myself if I met you— _when_ I met you,” Brian says, “I wouldn’t be an idiot. But clearly I am. I didn’t mean it like that. More like. . . _thank you_ for not being too hard on him.”

 

Louis had stiffened, but he relaxes a little bit now. “What he did was pretty unforgivable, even with his excellent excuse,” Louis sighs, “but I still can’t seem to steer clear of him.”

 

“You may not realize this,” Brian says softly, “but often the relatives and friends of alcoholics need counseling too.”

 

Louis knows he should probably have seen a counselor in the last five years. But that would mean admitting something was wrong and Louis tried so hard to pretend he was okay.

 

“I’m. . .I’m . . .I guess I’m a very private person,” Louis stutters out.

 

Brian’s answering smile is almost unbearably sympathetic. “Harry told me a little. But if you ever need someone to talk to. . .”

 

Louis wants to pretend that he won’t. But he already knows that he will probably be seeking Brian out at some point. He knows it’s not healthy that some nights he wakes up in a cold sweat, thinking they’re on tour but it’s five years ago and he’s lost Harry again to a haze of booze and partying.

 

Extending his hand, Louis shakes Brian’s hand firmly. Pride is a tough thing to overcome, but love seems to do the job without even the slightest bit of difficulty. “I’d like that,” he says.

 

\---

**Detroit, MI. August 17, 2014**

When Harry bursts into the green room, looking as angry as Louis has ever seen him, Louis is making a cup of tea at the hot water station, praying that maybe the caffeine will help perk him up for the show. Redbull makes him horribly jittery and he can never sleep right after and he most definitely needs a boost to make it through the concert tonight. He was up far too late and had a recording session with Julian at noon so he couldn’t stay in bed. When he’d crawled out of it, groggy and worried, Harry had still been completely passed out.

 

And if Louis is being completely, 100% honest with himself, he avoided going back to the room and seeing Harry after recording. He couldn’t deal with him. Couldn’t deal with yet another round of fruitless apologies. Though by the looks of the expression on Harry’s face now, maybe there wouldn’t have been any.

 

“How fucking dare you,” Harry spits out, and Louis automatically glances around to make sure nobody’s in their vicinity, but they’re basically alone. Normally this might be a good thing, but Louis doesn’t feel like fighting right now. He’s exhausted and worried sick and just wants to go on stage, do this show, and fall into a long, dreamless sleep after.

 

Harry clearly isn’t going to let him do that, though.

 

“What?” Louis asks tiredly. “Nice to see you too, babe. Yes, I’m fine. No, I’m not dead. Thanks for saving my sorry drunk ass again.”

 

It’s evidence of how pissed Harry is at whatever Louis has done now that he completely ignores that bit of sarcasm and moves straight on to the matter at hand. “I can’t believe you fucking _threatened_ people last night. Over _me_.”

 

Oh. Yeah. Louis vaguely remembers doing that. He also remembers coming back to the room, sending Liam back to his and after checking to make sure Harry was still breathing, taking a long, hot shower that ended up with him sobbing against the tile wall. He remembers feeling helpless and so fucking angry. He remembers throwing up the few bits of food he’d been able to keep down. He remembers crawling into bed next to the lifeless lump of Harry’s body, and wanting so badly to have his _boyfriend_ awake and conscious so they could cuddle. Louis is fucking sick of trying to comfort himself. He’s no good at it.

 

But Harry doesn’t remember anything. Harry _can’t_ remember anything. He made damn sure of that.

 

“I did what needed done,” Louis retorts back in a clipped tone. “ _Someone_ has to take care of you, since taking care of yourself is impossible.”

 

Harry’s never been that guy. Yeah, he’s two years younger than Louis, but Louis never once felt like Harry was holding him down or holding him back. Fuck, Harry was more mature at sixteen than Louis was at eighteen.

 

Of course, that was before Harry decided he needed to drown all his sorrows. Now Harry apparently feels it’s perfectly alright to spiral out of control.

 

Perfectly fucking fine.

 

“You had no right,” Harry says in a low, furious voice.

 

Louis is exhausted and exhausted with this conversation. He really doesn’t have the energy to fight with Harry right now. He’s spent the last of it to fight _for_ him.

 

“I had every right,” Louis corrects as patiently as he can, even though he’s never really thought patient was in his repertoire. Love is a funny thing like that. “I love you. I want to take care of you.”

 

It’s unspoken that Harry isn’t taking care of himself. And for the first time, Harry’s eyes drop to the floor and Louis can see the beginning of a shameful flush on his cheekbones. Okay, so Harry knows he fucked up. Harry feels sorry. Louis isn’t sure what that changes anymore. It certainly doesn’t mean he won’t go out and do it again.

 

But maybe if Louis makes him see what he’s doing, makes him see how much he jeopardizes everything they’ve worked their asses off for, maybe he’ll take that extra second to think in the future. So Louis lays on the guilt, thick and heavy.

 

“Of course I fucking threatened them,” Louis continues. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re safe and not dead in some ditch. Do you _know_ what I think about when you take off like that? Do you know what I have to do when someone drags you back to me? _No_ , of course not, because you can’t fucking remember a thing!”  


The flush on Harry’s face deepens and he hasn’t looked up from the floor through Louis’ entire tirade. Bolstered by the hope that maybe this will work when everything else has failed, Louis plays his final trump card.

“Maybe if you remembered,” Louis says, voice dropping soft and vicious, “you’d remember how many people depend on you. Depend on One Direction being together. Playing shows. Touring. Making albums. Do you want to be responsible for ruining all that?”

 

Harry takes it all. He takes everything Louis gives him, and then glances up. Louis wonders with spiking panic if maybe he’s made a horrible miscalculation because there’s this horrible agonizing hate in Harry’s eyes and it’s not at him. It’s at _himself_.

 

“Haz,” Louis says, reaching for Harry’s hand. “It’s okay. We can work through this together. Just talk to me. We’ll make it through this. We have before. So many times before.” He knows his careening mood swing and probably annoyingly chipper voice make no sense to Harry but he can’t bear the thought that he’s made Harry face his demons and in the process, given Harry that dead-eyed stare. It’s too much for Louis to handle. So he pulls Harry in close and they stand there for a long, drawn out moment, just holding each other.

 

Louis hopes that it’s enough.

 

Deep down, he knows better.

 

The next morning, he wakes up, the sun shining through the window of their hotel room, and Harry’s side of the bed is empty. There’s a note on Louis’ side of the bed that reads simply, “I’m sorry. I can’t do it anymore.”

 

And just like that, life as Louis knew it is completely over.

 

\--

 

**Edinburgh, Scotland. September 20, 2019**

Louis has been wondering for two months now if maybe that last little bit of guilt that he forced on Harry is what pushed him over the edge and sent him away. It hadn’t even occurred to him before, but during that first interview, when Harry had said that it was his fear that he’d destroy One Direction and it was better that he destroy himself instead, Louis couldn’t help but wonder.

 

He’s asked Brian to meet him at this little out-of-the-way tea shop in a back alley in Edinburgh for a lot of reasons, but one of those reasons is that burning question.

 

_Was I the one to drive Harry away?_

Brian will know, Louis is sure of that. He just isn’t sure he can actually ask the question because he’s too afraid of the answer. But he’s had too many sleepless nights lately and that’s partially what’s driven him to little shop to meet Brian when he should be spending his time doing just about anything else.

 

Louis has just about lost his nerve and ducked out the door when Brian walks in. Louis gives a half-hearted wave and Brian walks over, sitting down at the tiny table in the corner that Louis hopes is private enough to really talk.

 

Louis makes a huge production about pouring the tea, chattering aimlessly and a bit maniacally about everything and nothing.

 

Brian just sits back, expression calm but vaguely amused, and watches Louis fall apart.

 

Finally Louis runs out of words and goes silent. He crosses his arms over his chest. “I thought you wanted to talk,” he says semi-accusingly even though he knows perfectly well there’s no way Brian could even fit a word in edgewise with the way Louis has been chattering on.

 

“I do,” Brian says slowly with a growing smile. “Harry was definitely right about you.”

 

Louis pounces on that, as if he needed yet another reason to procrastinate. “What did Harry say about me?” he demands.

 

“Lots of things,” Brian drawls. He pauses, taking a drink of his tea, his eyes never leaving Louis’. “Are you ready to hear about how I met him?”

 

Louis already has an inkling of they met and he’s not sure if he can sit and listen to a story about Harry hitting rock bottom—but that _is_ why they’re here so he gives a nod.

 

“I was volunteering at a hospital in New York, trying to talk to some of the college kids who came in to get their stomachs pumped. I wasn’t really looking for another project to take on. My clinic only takes a handful of patients, because it’s basically my house, and we were full. I didn’t expect to pull back the emergency room curtain and see Harry Styles laying on a gurney.”

 

Louis swallows hard. He wants to tell Brian he’s changed his mind. But he can’t quite form the words.

 

Brian’s expression is endlessly empathetic. “Anytime you need me to stop,” he adds quietly, “you just say the word.”

 

“I’m okay,” Louis stutters out, though that isn’t exactly true.

 

“You love him,” Brian states very simply.

 

It’s the most baldfaced statement that anyone has made to Louis about his feelings since Harry came back. Louis expects that he’ll hate it. He’s never liked being told how he feels, but it’s really an observation more than anything else.

 

“I do,” Louis can only confirm. “I’ve loved him since I was eighteen years old.”

 

“I took him in,” Brian finally continues. “I didn’t even mean to. I helped him when they released him from the hospital and I didn’t even mean for him to stay. I don’t think he even meant to stay. But I knew I could help him.”

 

“You saved his life.” Louis’ voice is quiet.

 

“Harry saved his own life. And you, you saved it too,” Brian says insistently. “The thought of you got him through the worst of it. I don’t usually encourage that sort of thinking, but he needed it. Later, I realized it was more that he needed you, but the thought was all he had.”

 

Louis swallows hard. This is turning out to be even more difficult than he dreamt it might be. “Did he ever talk to you about why he left? Did he ever tell you why?”

 

Brian’s smile is solemn and sweet. Bittersweet, almost. “He did.”

 

“I. . .I,” Louis can barely get the words out. “I think I might have pushed him away.”

 

“No. Never.” Brian’s voice has the ring of steel in it. Absolute certainty. “He knows how much you helped him. Nobody could have done more for him, Louis. He wasn’t ready to recover yet. There’s nothing you could have done beyond loving and supporting him.”

 

“I mean, I said some things. . .” Louis whispers. “I tried to make him feel guilty. Did he ever tell you about that?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Louis waits for more, but more isn’t forthcoming. Brian finally sighs. “Louis, you need to talk to him. I know it’s hard and it’s going to get harder when you actually talk. But these questions. . .they’re for him to answer.”

 

It’s one of the hardest things Louis has ever done, admitting this. But he does it, and he does it for one reason and one reason only: Harry. He does it because Harry’s already done the hard shit and waded through his emotional baggage. Louis needs to get a handle on his before they can ever think about resuming their friendship, nevermind their relationship. So he admits it. “I don’t know how.” He can’t even look at Brian as he says it. It’s too shameful.

 

“Of course you don’t,” Brian says, full of understanding. “How could you?”

 

“What do I do?” Louis hadn’t even realized it, but he’s kind of balancing on a precipice of desperation here. He needs some idea on how to get started, how to even approach Harry when they’re not on stage. That he does it so naturally and even eagerly when they _are_ on stage tells him everything he needs to know about what he really wants, but it doesn’t help him get anywhere when it really matters.

 

“Maybe you need to start over,” Brian suggests. “No pressure. I mean, it’s hard to talk about this stuff with someone you’re close to. You and Harry love each other but you’ve been apart for five years. That’s a long time.”

 

“Start over?” This is not the suggestion Louis was expecting him to make, but it does make a kind of twisted sense.

 

“Start over,” Brian confirms.

 

\--

 

That night, Louis can’t sleep again. He’s tossing and turning in his bed, the words Brian said earlier echoing insistently in his head and making it impossible for him to actually fall asleep.

 

_Start over_.

 

Louis doesn’t even know how to do that. So he goes back in time, way back to the beginning. What had they even done at the beginning? How had they even gotten to know each other?

 

At the bungalow and at the X-Factor house, they’d fallen in together so easily, so quickly, it almost seemed as if they’d known each other forever. He’s always believed that was a good thing—a _great_ thing—but now it leaves him baffled as to how exactly they can start over.

 

He knows he can’t do it on stage, even though that feels like the easiest, the most natural option. But deep down, Louis knows that only confuses the situation—and Harry. And he’s confused Harry enough. No matter what Harry has done or hasn’t done, he doesn’t deserve being jerked around.

 

In the end, like so many other things, Louis decides maybe he’s overthinking it and he just needs to pare everything down to the barest elements.

 

Which is how he ends up in front of Harry’s hotel room door, heart pounding. He knocks before he can chicken out and for several long, heart-stopping moments, there’s nothing, only quiet, and Louis wonders if maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he should have checked with Harry that he was actually _in_ his hotel room, but that would have ruined the surprise a little.

 

Then Harry pulls the door open.

 

“Hi,” is all Louis can say. That’s all he’s got. One simple, very straightforward word. His eyes stray to Harry’s bicep, covered by his t-shirt, where the first word he ever spoke to Harry is tattooed there, in his handwriting. Back then, it had been a promise to each other that they’d never forget.

 

Truthfully, Louis doesn’t know how he could ever forget. Harry isn’t just tattooed on his skin, he’s tattooed in his heart.

 

For a second, Harry freezes in surprise. Louis hopes it’s a good kind of surprise, but maybe it’s not good, especially when he still doesn’t say anything and a wrinkle of confusion appears between his brows.

 

Louis gives him a tiny, hesitant smile, prodding Harry a little. Like, _come on Harry, you know where this is going_

“Hi,” he repeats again, more insistently, and this time he sticks his hand out. “I’m Louis.”

 

The wrinkle smooths out and Harry smiles then, a dopey, lopsided, extremely silly but extremely happy grin. “Oops,” he replies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr at bethaboolou and on twitter at @beth_bolden


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to post. I could give a million excuses and all of them would probably be valid, but well, I hate taking so much time between chapters just as much as you hate waiting for a new post.
> 
> So hopefully not nearly as long of a delay next time. Only five chapters to go!
> 
> The song the band decides to cover (which, I think, is well worth giving a listen to): [Coldplay's "The Scientist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jkMGf2_NKvs)

It’s been two weeks since Louis appeared at Harry’s hotel room door and they started this whole process of getting to know each other again.

 

Louis didn’t think it would be very easy, but it’s turned out to be even tougher than he ever imagined. The hated awkwardness hasn’t gone away. There are still long, drawn-out silences when neither of them know what to say. Louis still wants to run away every time Harry touches him—mostly because he wants so much more than just one simple touch, he wants it _all_ , and he knows they’re not even close to ready for that—but every day, Louis feels like they’re getting stronger.

 

They’ve established a routine of sorts—sleeping in late, heading to the venue only when they have to, and then staying up even later after the show, mostly fucking around, stealing golf carts and behaving like they used to when they were teenagers.

 

It feels good to resurrect the Dream Team, even if by the end of the first week, everyone involved with the show gets a look of dread on their face whenever they come near.

 

Bernard tries to establish a “no golf carts or other moving objects” rule, but Louis didn’t even listen to Paul. He’s certainly not going to listen to some obnoxious twat who has a stick up his arse a mile long.

 

One night during the second week, Harry brings a guitar with them to the balcony of the theater, and he sits there, strumming mostly nonsense as they eat bag after bag of microwave popcorn that Louis smuggled out of the green room.

 

The next night, Louis brings his guitar, even though it’s been sitting mostly unused, and this time, there’s less nonsense and before they even realize it, they’re (badly) playing covers and harmonizing together.

 

Louis likes playing with Harry. He always liked it, but before, he’d always written with Liam. When you’re writing songs about your deepest love, having your deepest love present doesn’t always help the situation. That’s just one of the many things they don’t talk about yet. Louis knows he still has so many questions to ask Harry, questions he really needs answers to before he can even attempt to forgive him, but it’s easier to goof around and play and eat way too much junk food. It feels like an escape from a way-too-harsh reality and if Louis has learned something from the last five years, it’s that reality always comes calling eventually, so he’s going to enjoy the respite while it lasts.

 

A few nights later, Niall catches Louis and Harry sneaking off with their guitars. He begs to come along, and then suddenly they’re playing as a trio and when one night in the green room, Liam approaches Louis, he isn’t even sure he should tell the truth.

 

“I hear you’re playing with Harry and Niall,” Liam says, “and that it’s pretty good stuff.”

 

Louis tries to look super casual. Except he’s not very good at super casual and his look probably ends up more vaguely annoyed. “We’re just messing around,” he says.

 

“You’re not writing?” Liam asks, no judgment in his tone.

 

“Hardly,” Louis scoffs. “Just covers. Silly things, really.”

 

They’ve played through most of Adele and Beyoncé and now they’ve moved onto a Harry request, Coldplay.

 

“Niall says you guys did a cover last night that was, in his words, fucking sick.” There’s definitely judgment in Liam’s tone now. Like somehow Louis was supposed to know the moment they stopped fucking around and did something actually good and the moment that happened, he was supposed to run to Liam and tell him all about it.

 

“It was okay.” Louis shrugs.

 

“I heard it was a little better than okay.” Liam is strangely determined and Louis suddenly feels weirdly protective of their little jam sessions. Like, they really only started as a way for him and Harry to communicate since they can’t seem to use words very well—okay, since _he_ can’t use words very well—and then Niall became involved and now there’s Liam and suddenly it’s a Thing.

 

Louis really doesn’t want it to be a Thing.

 

He wants it to stay free and easy and simple. Something that he and Harry can connect with on a basic level. But Louis knows when Liam gets that music mogul gleam in his eye, good things never happen. _Complicated_ things, maybe, and things that make them both a lot of money, but they’re not usually _good_.

 

Liam shoots him an annoyed, exasperated look. “Can I come listen tonight?”

 

Louis wants to say no. He really, really does. But he also knows Liam and whenever Liam is this determined, he will make whatever he wants happen. He’ll probably go ask Harry next. And Harry, being the generous soul-sharer that he is, will almost certainly say yes.

 

“Fine,” Louis grumbles.

 

Satisfied with Louis’ answer, Liam settles down on the couch next to him and sticks his big, ugly boots on the coffee table. “I didn’t know you and Harry were hanging out,” he says next and Louis makes a face.

 

“That’s why you didn’t know,” Louis says. “Because you’d make a big deal out of it.”

 

“It _is_ a big deal. You and Harry have always been a big deal.”

 

Louis can’t really deny that so he doesn’t say a word. But Liam has known him long enough to know that in Tommo language, silence is almost always an affirmative response.

 

“So, it’s going good then. You’re trying.”

 

“It’s. . .” Louis doesn’t really know what to say. So he settles for the most innocuous adjective he can think of. “It’s fine.”

 

Liam rolls his eyes and Louis sighs heavily. “Okay, so it’s not easy, but it’s going okay. The music thing helps, actually.”

 

“You know, you’re going to have to actually talk to him sometime.” Liam is way too smart for his own good.

 

“Sometime,” Louis says. Nice and vague. He likes vague.

 

“You’re impossible,” Liam shoots back, but there’s genuine fondness and happiness in his expression and even though Louis doesn’t need Liam’s approval, he finds he’s strangely glad to have it.

 

\----

 

From the moment Liam hears their cover of “The Scientist,” he’s like a man possessed.

 

He’s pacing back and forth on the upper corner of the stadium, gesturing wildly, muttering to himself and Louis wonders if their butchering of Coldplay has finally driven Liam round the bend.

 

“Zayn needs to hear this,” is what Liam finally says when he turns to the three of them. “And we need to add two more parts.”

 

“What?” Louis is incredulous. Clearly they’ve given Music Mogul Liam too many sweets and cuddles and now he thinks they’ll do whatever he wants.

 

“For once, Niall actually didn’t exaggerate. That cover _is_ fucking sick. We need to put it in the show.”

 

Louis really doesn’t like this idea. The song, even though it’s not one that they wrote or even one he’s really all that familiar with, feels too private to suddenly share with their audiences. It’s something he started with Harry. And yeah, maybe the lyrics hit a little too close to home.

 

“Really?” Harry looks like sunshine and roses and rainbows, eyes sparkling and hands clasped together in delight. It’s one of the happiest Louis has seen him since he came back in the summer. And while he might not have actively thought it, he knows that’s the kind of look he wants to put on Harry’s face all the fucking time. Same as he always has.

 

He’s about to join in the excited chorus of Harry and Niall, but then Harry turns to him, a pleading look in those gorgeous eyes. “Lou,” he murmurs, shifting a bit closer so that Louis can still hear him clearly, even though his voice has dropped so it’s for them and only them, “I know this was kind of our thing, but it’s okay, yeah?”  


Louis should be a better man. He really, really should. He planned to say yes. But here’s this nice, perfect opportunity for Harry to beg him prettily, all tied up in a package, complete with a bow, and he can’t really resist.

 

“I don’t know,” he fake grumbles, making sure to not make his objection too strenuous. More uncertain than actively against the idea.

 

“Please?” Harry asks, all soft and sweet and accommodating and Louis _loves_ this Harry. Used to love it when Harry tried so hard to please him.

 

He draws out the sweet attention a moment or two longer then gives Harry a conciliatory grin. “I guess it would be okay.”

 

Harry immediately throws his arms around Louis, his bigger body enveloping Louis’ much smaller one, and when Harry buries his face against Louis’ neck, he actually burns with the desire to _touch_.

 

It’s scary but he follows the instinct that is telling him to do it _now_ while he can, while things are easy and uncomplicated, while Harry is so happy and free. So he reaches around and digs his thumb into Harry’s back the way he always used to and they hang onto each other for one beat, then two, like they’re each other’s only rocks in a storm.

 

When they finally break apart, Niall is giving them a gleeful, knowing look and Liam is already on the phone.

 

“With Zayn,” Niall explains. “He wants to do this tonight, I guess.”

 

The arrangement they finally come up with is one single guitar, Niall’s, and the five of them harmonizing Chris Martin’s lyrics. Louis can admit it’s a really good cover, maybe even better than “Viva La Vida,” the song that basically launched their career, so that’s really saying something.

 

Liam insists they play it the next night, and makes it easy when he arranges the entire thing, coordinating with the backing musicians and the lighting crew. But they agree not to tell anyone else.

 

They’re fifteen dates in, so most of the audience has the set list memorized, and when they don’t move from their positions after “Little Things,” Louis can sense the wave of curiosity that’s moving through the crowd. He changes his microphone from one sweaty palm to the other and tells himself that this is all fine, that nobody will read any more into the gesture than it’s originally meant—that it’s a great song and it’s a great cover.

 

From the first chords, the crowd falls deadly silent. It’s a fairly well known song. They’re now a fairly well known (ex) couple. It’s not even a slight leap of logic for anyone in the crowd to make the connection. Louis shifts nervously on his stool and his brain is one long litany of _don’t look at Harry, don’t look at Harry, don’t look at Harry._

But of course, he has to look at Harry. He’s leading the first verse and his voice is so haunting and lovely and aching with all the things they don’t ever talk about because they’re too fucking painful for Louis to face.

 

But Harry’s already faced his own demons. He’s survived them. And there’s also a tiny bit of triumph that resonates when he sings about setting Louis apart. Because there’s literally not a single other person that Harry could be singing this song about and he fucking knows it. _Everyone_ knows, and there’s a part of Louis that feels so smug.

 

He’s the only person that Harry’s ever loved. He wondered, more than a few times after Harry left, but it feels pretty good now to realize that he never should have doubted.

 

So of course Louis looks. And of course Harry is staring right back at him, eyes burning as he pours out every ounce of his longing.

 

Nobody in the audience could possibly hear Louis’ voice crack a little when he joins in on the chorus, but Liam notices and glances over in his direction. Louis thinks more than a little resentfully that Liam should have cared this much about Louis’ feelings when he was all up in his business, demanding they sing the cover live. But it’s a little late now, they’re halfway through the song, and Harry’s heart is practically lying bloody and beaten on the stage for everyone to see, and Louis’ is nearly right there with him.

 

The plan is for Louis to lead the second verse. He’s not sure he’s going to be strong enough to pull this off, not with so many fucking feelings swelling inside of him, so he stares right back at Harry and like he always used to, he lets Harry ground him— _anchor_ him.

 

He knows just how plaintive and desperate he sounds when he begs Harry to tell him he loves him. _In the song_ , Louis reminds himself firmly, _in the song_ , but this entire exercise has become rather more meta than even he expected when they started it.

 

And maybe that was fucking Liam’s intention all along, because when Liam croons out the melody after the bridge, he sounds way too proud of himself. And a tiny glance in his direction proves it, considering his rather self-satisfied grin. Louis decides someone is getting salt instead of sugar in their tea for the next week.

 

When the song finally ends, the strums of Niall’s guitar finally fading into emptiness, the roar of applause takes even Louis, who was used to stadiums full of nearly a hundred thousand fans, completely off-guard.

 

When he finally has the courage to let go of Harry’s gaze, and glance out into the crowd, Louis is shocked to see tears streaming down some of the audience’s faces. And even though there are technically five of them up on stage, he can’t help but feel like the entire weight of their collective freak-out is definitely focused on just him and Harry.

 

Harry gives Louis a rather bashful shrug, eyelashes fluttering coyly, and Louis can’t help the smile he sends him back.

 

Louis stands there for a moment, then another and then they have to get ready for their next segment of songs, but as Louis does, shifting to the other side of the stage, Liam walks behind him, saying just loud enough, “sometime is _now_ , mate.”

 

Louis is mostly grateful Liam forced them to sing the song, even if in the end it didn’t really change anything. But he’s still getting salt in his tea for the foreseeable future.

 

\----

 

Zayn told Louis before they went on tour, while they were still in rehearsals, that Bernard would probably end up growing on Louis and they’d end up getting along like a house on fire.

 

“You didn’t like Paul at first, either,” Zayn reminds him and Louis just rolls his eyes. “Yeah, for the first thirty minutes,” Louis retorts back.

 

It turns out that for once, Zayn is wrong.

 

Bernard hasn’t grown on anybody. He’s tolerated, barely, and Louis actively goes out of his way to avoid him and also makes sure Bernard knows it.

 

Which makes this particular meeting all the more annoying because Louis wasn’t given a choice about attending _and_ it’s being run by Bernard.

 

In Louis’ humble opinion, that’s two reasons alone that guarantee it’s a waste of time. As far as he’s concerned, there’s not a single thing that Bernard could say that Louis gives a shit about.

 

Until Bernard brings up setting a makeshift recording studio in their hotel the next night and recording their cover of “The Scientist.”

 

“A promo single?” Louis interjects loudly. “I don’t remember talking about this.”

 

Liam shoots him a rather annoyed look and Louis glares right back. When they were _allowed_ to make decisions, they always made them together. They’re not under the same insane restrictions as before, so he doesn’t understand why he not only wasn’t asked, he wasn’t even _informed._

“It’s a good idea,” Liam announces. “Good for promo for the US leg of the tour.”

 

“Especially if we add more dates,” Bernard says and Louis does a second double take.

 

“ _More_ dates?” Louis knows he’s been a little preoccupied, wreaking teenage havoc with Harry, but that doesn’t excuse being completely left out of decisions.

 

“Tommo, you need to read your email,” Zayn says, more patiently than Louis probably deserves. “We ended up selling out the US leg. Apparently we’re hot shit again.”

 

Louis rolls his eyes. “Speak for yourself,” he sniffs. “I’ve _always_ been hot shit.”

 

Harry giggles at that, and Louis gives himself a mental pat on the back, even though nobody else laughs. The jokes are almost always for Harry anyway, and like always, Haz still thinks he’s the funniest person in the room. Louis is actually discovering that more things are the same than they are different. And that’s not at all what he was expecting.

 

“I thought it would be a great idea to officially record the song,” Liam interrupts, frown creasing his forehead. “There’s so many subpar recordings floating around. Plus it’ll be great for promo.”

 

It’s painful enough to sing his desperate longing for Harry on stage. He can’t even imagine recording it and making it available for anyone to buy. The thought makes his heart race and his head pound and he’s nearly having a panic attack just considering it.

 

Of course, they’ve already progressed right past Louis thinking about it right into planning to do it.

 

“It’ll be easy,” Harry says reassuringly, leaning over, his shoulder rubbing against Louis’. “Just record the second verse and the chorus and we’ll be done. It’s really a pretty simple song.”

 

“That’s the beauty of it,” Bernard latches onto the argument and Louis has zero qualms about making a face at him when he has the nerve to try to continue Harry’s thought. Harry knows Louis better than Bernard could in a hundred lifetimes; a thousand.

 

In the end, it’s pretty simple. All Harry has to do is simply bat his eyelashes at Louis and murmur, “please, Lou,” like it’s all he’s ever wanted in life and suddenly, even though Louis’ brain thinks it’s probably a crappy idea and that he’ll regret it, his heart wants nothing more than to give Harry exactly what he wants.

 

Louis forgot how inconvenient being in love is.

 

That’s how he finds himself, the next day, situated between two sagging mattresses of dubious cleanliness, staring into a microphone.

 

He’s been in plenty of recording studios since the end of One Direction, but never on this side. He’s been a producer a couple of dozen of times over, and written plenty of songs. But he steadfastly refused to ever face the microphone again. He’s not entirely sure why, but whatever reason there is, he can’t seem to make his mouth form words or even sounds. He can’t sing, period, and when the engineer Bernard flew in glances over at Liam, Louis feels himself start to move into full meltdown mode.

 

The worst part is that he really, really wanted to do this for Harry. It was something he really wanted, and Louis can’t seem to make his brain cooperate. And that’s just annoying.

 

His breath goes short and choppy and he can’t seem to get a proper lungful of air and he’s gripping the microphone stand, his knuckles white and pronounced, and that’s when Liam walks over.

 

“You okay, Tommo?” he asks casually, as if Louis isn’t a sweating, embarrassing wreck. Later, Louis thinks dimly, he’s going to have to thank Liam for acting like everything is alright. Because everything is definitely not alright.

 

Louis gives up on being able to give a verbal answer. He just clamps his lips together and gives Liam a very definite shake of his head.

 

“Okay. It’s okay. I promise.” Liam lifts his hand, as if he’s about to give Louis a reassuring pat on the back, but Louis is about five seconds away from a full blown panic attack. He does _not_ want to be touched right now. Not by Liam, anyway.

 

Liam can tell almost instantly and pulls his hand back down. “Okay, okay,” he says again, and it sounds more like he’s talking to himself. “I’ll be right back,” he says and he’s out the door.

 

Thirty seconds later, he returns with Harry in tow.

 

Louis shoots Liam a panicked, angry glare. He does _not_ want Harry to see him like this. They are doing so much better and he doesn’t want Harry to think this is about him, because while maybe his leaving was the catalyst for this particular issue, this is hardly Louis’ first problem in the recording studio.

 

He’s never been particularly confident about his voice. During the X-Factor, Louis had all his worst nightmares rather painfully confirmed when the producers pretty much refused to give him any solos. Then his voice was blended almost completely in most of the _Up All Night_ album, and even though Harry and the others worked nearly tirelessly to convince him that his voice is unique and perfect _just the way it is_ , Louis has never been able to get rid of that pesky little well of insecurity that attacks him whenever he faces a recording session.

 

Harry stops in front of Louis, the expression in his eyes both solemn and infinitely reassuring.

 

He doesn’t ask if Louis is okay. He can see that he isn’t. He’s also rather a veteran with dealing with this problem, which Louis realizes is probably why he was fetched in the first place.

 

When Harry extends his hand, hesitantly and when Louis doesn’t move, it settles lightly on his shoulder and squeezes oh so gently. “You’re wonderful.” Harry’s voice is deep and sure, and the glimmer of stars in his eyes confirm to Louis that he _does_ love him. He’s always loved him. But then love hasn’t ever been their problem.

 

It helps that seeing Louis like this hasn’t diminished any of Harry’s feelings and that’s half the battle. Louis needs to calm enough to realize that everything he’s gained, individually and with the other four lads, is all true. The world isn’t putting them on. People love his voice. _He_ loves his voice, now. Those nasty ass producers who once told him that nobody needed to ever hear him—they weren’t only full of bullshit, they were just plain _wrong_.

 

It takes ten minutes of long, soft breaths and Harry murmuring all the truths Louis used to hear weekly—sometimes _daily_ —but that he hasn’t heard in years, and that big, reassuring hand stroking Louis’ back, and then finally, he’s able to calm down.

 

When his breathing finally evens out, Harry asks if he wants Liam back. Louis glances up in surprise and realizes that Liam and the engineer must have left the room when Harry showed up. Sometimes Louis is a bit astonished at just how tightly his world can compact to Harry and only Harry when he has Louis’ attention.

 

“Do we have to?”  The question emerges from between Louis’ lips before he even realizes he’s thinking it. He doesn’t want even Liam listening to these words he’s singing—he wants to sing them to the only person he can ever think of.

 

“Let me check with him on a few things,” Harry says, and he is so sure and confident. Louis feels better, but not quite that much better. It’s annoying and he’s rather annoyed with himself. He’s twenty seven years old. He owns a football team. He’s respected in the music business now. Artists request him personally to write songs for them. There’s not a thing he should feel insecure about, but he does all the same. Maybe this uncertain, brand new thing with Harry that they’re still working through is affecting the other parts of his life.

 

Louis hates that thought. Hates the thought of any one person making him that vulnerable. Hates even more that it’s _still_ the same person he’s always been this vulnerable for. But he’s rationally worked through the problem and he knows until he deals with it, he’s not going to be able to move past it. Harry is in life and probably, almost certainly, in his future too. Louis is going to have to figure this out.

 

Harry comes back after only a minute or two. “Okay,” he says, flipping on a few switches and slipping on the headphones lying on the bed that Liam abandoned. “You can do this.”

 

“Don’t you mean _we_ can do this?” Louis jokes feebly.

 

Harry shoots him a look. “No. _You_ can do this.”

 

Louis glances down at the anchor tattooed on Harry’s wrist and decides maybe it’s time to be brutally honest. “I can’t do this without you,” he says, both hating and loving the way it makes him feel flayed absolutely bare, everything visible and prominent to the other man.

 

Harry is practically instantly by Louis’ side, his hand in the same spot on Louis’ back, stroking reassuringly, as if he knows the litany of shit that Louis is giving himself for not being to do this alone. “I like that you need me,” Harry admits. “It makes me feel like maybe this isn’t all in vain.”

 

Louis smiles and hopes Harry can’t see the sudden wateriness in his eyes. “I hope it isn’t,” he admits. And suddenly a hand on his back isn’t enough. Louis always wants to touch Harry everywhere—that’s a thing that’s existed from almost the very moment they met and has _never_ gone away—but now it’s a fierce burning need that he doesn’t have the strength to deny. Even if he wanted to, and he’s not sure he does anymore.

 

So he reaches for Harry’s other hand, dangling by his side, and laces their fingers together, the anchor and the rope tattooed on Louis’ wrist, matching up for the first time in five long years. _It’s been so long. . ._ Louis hums in his head, thinking for the first time in years of a song he and Liam once wrote that was never actually recorded. A song he’d hoped they could put on their next album. A song inspired by the beautiful man in front of him.

 

Harry’s eyes look a bit wet too, and Louis decides there’s probably not a better time to take the plunge. He nods to Harry and slips on his own headphones. Taking a deep breath, he starts to sing into the microphone.

 

And every word he sings, he can’t help but think of the first time he told Harry he loved him. The first time Harry figured out how to get them through the agony that was Louis in the recording studio.

 

\---

 

**August 27, 2011. London.**

 

If Louis sees the producers conferring under the breath one more time, he’s going to fucking lose it.

 

The thing is, he knows exactly what they’re saying. What they really think. Saying it so he can’t hear it doesn’t mean anything, and he’s nearly about to tell them that, in the snottiest, brattiest way he can, when the studio door opens and like an angel from heaven, there’s Harry’s head full of curls and dimpled smile, beaming over at Louis.

 

“Sorry for the interruption,” he says, smiling crookedly over at the producers, and Louis knows he isn’t even the tiniest bit sorry and that he’s only here because somehow he knows, in the inexplicably magical way that only Harry can, that Louis needs help.

 

Or that Louis is about to do something bad.

 

Either one.

 

Maybe both, in this particular case.

 

Louis latches onto Harry before Harry can possibly latch onto him, winding his arms around his waist, pulling him close and nuzzling his face into the curls at the base of Harry’s neck. He doesn’t care what the producers think, if they know or if they even give a shit that they’re boyfriends. They only seem to care about the fact that he can’t really sing and Harry and the others can.

 

It’s kind of the worst luck, Louis thinks. He actually makes it through the X-Factor to the finale, comes in third place, with the greatest bunch of lads in the world, including one particular lad who makes his heart race and his skin heat and so many other wonderful things, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. There are still an absolute shit ton of people out there who’re practically experts and none of them think he’s worth anything at all.

 

If Louis didn’t love Harry so much, he might even be a bit jealous, because if they don’t love Louis and his weird voice and his too loud personality and his obnoxious attitude, they’re smitten with Harry’s lovely tone and pitch and charm. Harry’s quickly become their favorite darling. But as it is, Louis kind of agrees with them. Harry _is_ wonderful. He just wishes once in awhile that some of the affirmation that Harry seems to win so easily could be his.

 

“How’s it going?” Harry asks, even though they both know the answer already. There’s a reason Harry is here and there’s a reason that the producers have allowed Harry to stay so long. They aren’t sure what the fuck to do with Louis and the problems he’s having and Louis knows they think if Harry calms him down, keeps him from exploding, maybe it’ll all work itself out.

 

Louis isn’t sure that’s true, but it _is_ true that Harry never fails to make him feel better.

 

“Eh,” Louis says non-committedly and shrugs.

 

“I love your voice,” Harry says, low and soft, fondness shining out of his face until Louis feels warm and comforted by it, like rays of sun.

 

“You’re the only one,” Louis can’t help but say dejectedly under his breath.

 

“They’re wrong about you,” Harry argues fiercely, holding him even tighter, until Louis can’t really catch his breath. “They’re so wrong.”

 

Louis isn’t entirely certain Harry is right, but his endless faith does make him feel a bit more optimistic. Like maybe someday he won’t be so completely useless in the studio, off-key and off-pitch and _weird_.

 

“Your voice blends so beautifully with ours,” Harry adds softly, “with _mine_.”

 

“I just get so nervous,” Louis finally confesses. “All tense and it never comes out right.”

 

“It will.” Harry seems to have a boundless well of cheerfulness to draw from. “I promise.”

 

Louis doesn’t say anything, but he knows the way his shoulders are sagging tell the entire story. The producers are continuing their hushed up discussion and he just wants to sink through the floor. There are so many great parts of being in One Direction. This is not one of them.

 

“What if I told you I had a surprise for you, after you finish your session?” Harry says.

 

Louis sighs against Harry’s t-shirt. “For the millionth time, Haz, sex isn’t a surprise.”

 

Harry wiggles in Louis’ grasp, as if just the word can make him itch for it. Which is probably true; Harry can be kind of a nympho. But then, he isn’t really alone. “It’s not sex.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Just finish,” Harry whispers into his ear, and hugs him tight for a long second before letting him go. “I know you can do it.”

 

It does get better after Harry leaves. Not completely better, but good enough that the creased worry on the producers’ faces fades away. When the agony is finally over and they’ve released Louis from the prison of the studio, Harry’s the only one still waiting in the lobby.

 

“Everyone says bye and have a good time,” Harry announces excitedly, practically bouncing with it.

 

“They didn’t even wait?” Louis asks. That’s rather unlike them.

 

“They knew we’d be leaving,” Harry says by way of explanation as they head out the back door.

 

“Leaving?”

 

Harry’s eyes are shining like priceless emeralds as he gazes over at Louis. “I got us tickets to Leeds!”

 

“I thought it already started?” Louis asks, refusing to let himself get overwhelmed by the enthusiasm that’s clearly overwhelming Harry. Harry often lets himself get carried away by things, by everything that’s happened to them in the last year. Louis, being older and maybe a tiny bit wiser, is trying to learn to look a little before they leap. It’s mostly a mixed bag with how it’s working out, but right now, after that bitch of a recording session, Louis just can’t deal with more disappointment. So he holds back, even when he sees the hurt in Harry’s face when his boyfriend doesn’t instantly share his excitement.

 

“It did,” Harry agrees, “but we’ll still have most of today and tomorrow. I got all the stuff we need in the car. Got it while I was waiting for you. I thought you might want something fun to get your mind off . . .well, _everything_.”

 

Harry knows him so well. Knows he would probably spend the rest of the weekend alternating between flying off the handle and moping. Knows that probably even a marathon sex day wouldn’t distract him enough.

 

He waits until they’re in the car, mostly behind the shaded glass of Harry’s Range Rover, before leaning over and pulling Harry into a long, deep kiss. “Thank you,” he murmurs when their lips finally part.

 

“I love you, Lou,” Harry says completely casually, as if this is something he says every day.

 

Well, it _is_ something he says every day. It’s only Louis who can’t seem to reciprocate, which is ridiculous because if there’s anybody who loves anyone on earth like he loves Harry, he would honestly be surprised. But he just can’t seem to tell him. The words get stuck in his throat and in his head and he can’t seem to say them. Harry understands completely and has reassured him dozens of times that it’s _okay_. That he knows Louis had a tough childhood and that he self-protects and that when the time is right that it’ll happen. In the meantime, Louis just feels like a total shit boyfriend and wishes he could tell Harry as easily as Harry seems to tell him.

 

Even though they’re on their way to Leeds and he’s in love with the most wonderful boy in the world and he’s in a band with four of his best friends and they keep being told they’re poised on the cusp of superstardom, Louis thinks that sometimes life is total shit.

 

\---

 

From the moment they pull on these ridiculous galoshes that Harry got for them, Louis feels his distress slowly begin to seep away until it’s three am, and they’re jumping around like hyperactive three year old’s in the silent disco.

 

For a half a second, Louis is annoyed that he can’t just grab Harry and rub his bum right across the cock that he’s been watching thicken in Harry’s trousers for about twenty minutes now, but Harry had confessed on their drive up that he’d been read the riot act before they left. _No overt PDA_ , Harry had said, mimicking one of their more annoying Modest handlers. Louis had grimaced and shot Harry a commiserating look.

 

They know they push the limits of what they’re allowed. They enjoy coming up with new, creative ways to make their management lose sleep at night. It’s been a good run, Louis thinks as he catches a hot glance of Harry’s across the darkened room, but he wonders if they’re just about to run out of luck. They haven’t really discussed it, because it upsets both of them too much, but Modest is making noise about replacing Hannah with a new girl, a more _serious_ girlfriend, and Louis wants to throw up every time he thinks about it.

 

He can’t even imagine how awful it might make Harry feel.

 

Suddenly, he doesn’t want to be out here anymore, in the middle of a group of people that he has to _hide_ from. He wants to be tucked into their sad little lopsided tent with Harry, cuddled in close, soaking up all the love they have for each other.

 

Harry’s got these massive headphones perched on his curly hair and when he turns back to Louis after taking a fan photo, Louis tilts his head in the direction of the tent and Harry’s answering smile has enough watts to light up all of Leeds, probably.

 

They make it back to the tent without a single person bothering them, which is probably a good thing because right after they left the silent disco, Louis reaches for Harry’s hand and won’t let go even if Harry gives him a slightly apprehensive smile. It’s not hard to translate. After all, Louis’ has become pretty damn fluent in Harry-speak. He’s happy to be out here, at this great music festival, surrounded by so many great, fun people, and he’s happy to be holding Louis’ hand. But he worries about what a stray picture or a fan report might mean when they get back.

 

Louis convinces himself that hand-holding might be PDA, but it isn’t _overt_ PDA. Besides it’s three am, it’s pretty dark and most people they’re passing are drunk or high or both. Anyone who actually knows who they are probably doesn’t care if they’re holding hands.

 

Or else that’s what he tells himself. And in the last nineteen years, Louis has made a habit of telling himself exactly what he wants—or what he _needs_ —to hear.

 

They tumble into the tent, limbs flying everywhere, Harry squawking about mud on the sleeping bags and the duvet and Louis is giggling, partially because of the vodka shots they’d done and partially because he’s kind of incandescently happy to be here with Harry. Harry, who’s he pretty sure is going to be the love of his life.

 

Suddenly, he’s never wanted to tell him more than he does right now, in this tent that smells of new plastic and faintly of Harry’s cologne and of the vanilla candles that Harry insists on lighting in their flat because Louis is pretty sure the duvet they’re scrambling over is the one from their bed. And that is just _perfect_ because the place Louis always wanted to tell Harry the most is their bed, and though they aren’t technically in it right now, Louis decides they’re close enough in this tent that smells just a little bit like home.

 

Louis takes a deep, steadying breath and feeling the courage of the vodka and how _great_ of a day this turned out to be, when it had the potential to be such shit just this morning, pins Harry to the pile of sleeping bags and duvet and settles on top of him.

 

“Lou,” Harry pants, his hips shifting almost instantly under Louis’ body and they’ve been doing this long enough that Louis knows exactly what Harry wants when he gets that wild, drunk-on-Louis look in his eyes. Though he didn’t really need the time—he knew what Harry wanted the very first time he saw it. That’s part of the magic of them, Louis thinks. They know exactly what each other needs.

 

Louis leans down and presses a single finger to Harry’s lips. They fall open, and Louis feels the warmth of Harry’s breath on his skin. It almost derails the entire plan he’s just thought up because suddenly all he wants is to scoot up and press the tip of his cock into that warm, plush mouth. He knows how good it would be, mainly because he feels it almost every single day.

 

What can he say? He’s rather spoiled.

 

But, Louis reminds himself, _this is about Harry._

He settles back with more purpose on Harry’s lap and Harry’s eyes widen a little bit more. “Really?” Harry gasps out. “You’ll. . .”

 

If Harry says the words out loud, then Louis isn’t sure he’ll be able to go through with this, but it’s something they’ve talked about before, and it’s something he’s really _wanted_ , he’s just been a bit scared.

 

He knew just how easily Harry went and leaped off the cliff. It’s not in Louis’ nature to do the same. He just doesn’t trust the same open and easy way that Harry does. It’s a testament to how wonderful Harry is that Louis knows now that it’s okay that he isn’t that way. That Harry wants him exactly how he is, and no other way. But maybe the time has come, with everything that’s potentially coming up in the next few months, to finally take that leap.

 

Metaphorically _and_ physically.

 

“Yes, Harold,” Louis says with all the confidence and authority that he suddenly doesn’t feel, “you can finally fuck me.”

 

Harry looks just about as overwhelmed as Louis feels.

 

Harry’s fingered Louis lots of times. And they’ve used dildos. But Louis’ has always shied away from the real thing, and he realizes now that might be because he just wasn’t ready in so many ways.

 

He wants to be ready now, even though the way Harry is hesitating is making his heart beat hard in his chest.

 

“Are you sure?” Harry asks softly.

 

Is he sure? Louis isn’t sure he’s ever going to be _more_ sure. So he gives an abrupt nod. “Get on with it then,” Louis says brashly—and its everything he doesn’t feel.

 

Harry glances up at him rather shyly, suddenly looking so much his seventeen years. “Like this?”  


Louis gives a half-hearted bounce on Harry’s dick and decides that might not be so bad. He’d be in control. He likes being in control. _Harry_ likes him being in control.

 

“Yes.”

 

The moment the word leaves his lips, Louis’ world tilts and suddenly his back is on the duvet and Harry is grinning from above him. “It’s a bit easier if we start like this,” Harry says, all expert-like, and Louis reminds himself that in this particular thing, Harry _does_ have more experience than Louis does. After all, Louis has fucked Harry quite a lot this last year.

 

Harry leans over and kisses him, soft and slow and deep, and Louis gets so distracted by the wet slide of his lips on Harry’s that he doesn’t even register that his jeans are suddenly gone and then his pants, until suddenly there’s a big warm hand inching its way up his thigh. He jerks in surprise, breaking the kiss.

 

Harry must see the fear in his eyes because he’s back kissing him almost immediately and Louis wants to turn his head and insist, panting, that Harry touch his cock, lying hard and neglected and smearing precome all over his stomach. But he doesn’t. Because he trusts that if Harry loves this as much as he seems, then Louis will probably love it too.

 

And Louis has really enjoyed what they’ve done before. He’s just all angsty and nervous and he jerks again as a lubed up finger traces over his hole.

 

He kind of expects Harry to stick it in fast and prep him fast, and get in him even faster. Which is partially why Louis is nervous. Harry is _big_ and well, that’s a lot of cock to have up his bum. It’s probably going to hurt.

 

But Harry doesn’t. He teases Louis’ rim for what feels like hours, until he’s gasping into Harry’s mouth and shifting his body against Harry’s finger rather insistently. Only then does Harry slide it in, slowly and carefully.

 

Harry fingers Louis open so slowly and thoroughly that more than once Louis has to cry for him to stop, because he’s too close to coming. Louis didn’t even think he could come untouched but from the way this is going, he definitely is. Maybe even before Harry gets in him.

 

By the time Harry lines up, head of his cock catching on Louis’ rim, Louis is panting and moaning against his bicep, practically begging Harry to get on with it.

 

Louis was right though, it _is_ a lot of cock and it does take several long, drawn out minutes for Harry to bottom out and by the end, Louis is pretty much a crying wreck.

 

It hurts, but it hurts in the best possible way, and he’s never felt so fucking full in his entire life and he realizes now why Harry loves this so much because even though it does hurt, it also feels incredible.

 

And when he finally adjusts and Harry starts to move, it’s even better and there’s fire and lava instead of blood in his veins and all he can do is grip Harry’s biceps with his arms and give into the intoxicating pull of lust deep in his belly. His cock spurts so hard Louis thinks there might be come in his hair and when Harry gives a rather loud shout of his own, emptying into the condom, it’s one of the best moments of Louis’ life.

 

He doesn’t know why he waited so long to do this. He also doesn’t know why he waited so long to tell Harry how he feels.

 

When Harry’s collapsed onto the duvet next to him, sweaty and trembling, condom disposed of, Louis crowds close and nuzzles into his favorite curve of Harry’s neck. “I love you,” he says, softly but with certainty. “For always being exactly what I need.”

 

Harry’s arm tightens around Louis and Louis is almost drifting off to sleep when he hears Harry’s response. “Always going to be there for you, love. _Always_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](http://bethaboolou.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also thank you to everyone who's recommended this fic. I appreciate it so much <3


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should apologize for this chapter because it seems kind of horribly self-indulgent. I just think the idea of Harry and Louis grinding all over each other on the dance floor is insanely hot. Sorry, not sorry :)
> 
> Talking Body by Tove Lo

The band has a week break between the European and American legs of the tour, and as it approached, Louis told himself that it was a good thing. Maybe it wouldn’t be terrible to get some space, some perspective and come back feeling a bit less like he was constantly drowning in Harry.

 

He’d been afraid a week wouldn’t be enough time, with all the catchup he had to do back in London. But the seven day break actually dragged by, each day seeming longer than the last.

 

By the time he’s on the plane to America, he’s a mess. A restless, impatient, way-too-desperate-to-see-Harry mess. It turns out that after a five year drought, the literal worst thing in the world to deal with is seven more days.

 

Louis doesn’t know how he’s become so dependent again, and part of him is frightened that he’s right back where he was the first time, so much of his happiness revolving around one Harry Styles, but there’s also a part of him that’s pretty much come to terms with it.

 

He can’t imagine a world where he doesn’t love Harry.

 

So when he finally lands in New York, Louis feels like while the week wasn’t all that great, it’s still filled him with purpose. He knows what he wants, and he’s the closest he’s ever been to accepting it.

 

It’s definitely a little ironic because America has never been one of Louis’ favorite places. He’s visited very rarely over the last five years, preferring to stay almost exclusively in England. Of course that could have also been because once he and Harry weren’t together anymore, he didn’t have a single reason to go to LA.

 

He’d still kept his visits to a minimum, only flying in when there was a situation that absolutely demanded his presence—and since that almost never happened, it’s been years since he’s been back in America.

 

Louis knows it’s probably unfair to blame a whole country of people for the horrible predicament he and Harry ended up in—not just closeted, but _aggressively_ , stifling closeted. It wasn’t the Americans fault they were apparently so close-minded that he’d been forced into a three year long public “relationship” that was completely opposite of what his real relationship was like.

 

Objectively he knows it would only have been a matter of time before the closeting began in earnest, but for years, he’s maintained this very bitter, extremely cynical view of the United States.

 

When he and the lads walk onto the stage in New York for the first song, Louis is completely blown away by the response of the crowd.

 

The audiences in Europe and the UK were great, but he’s been trained for so long to believe that Americans are the worst of the lot that he’s astonished by the level of support. By the number of rainbows scattered through the crowd. He’s not prepared for the level of hysteria he creates just by glancing in Harry’s direction.

 

They don’t just accept him and Harry for who they are, they _love_ them as they are and it’s a revelation.

 

When the show finally ends, Louis’ pulse is beating hard, thumping in his chest, ringing in his ears. He feels like he could take on the world right now and nobody could stop him.

 

He can’t imagine going to bed, or going back to the hotel, or even just bumming around the venue. They’re in _New York_. He wants to go a club and dance until he’s literally brimming with the exhilaration rushing through his veins.

 

They’re in the green room, gathering their things, and Harry sidles over, and Louis wants to giggle because he tries to look so cool and casual, but he can’t hide the sheer want that’s burning in his eyes and imprinted on his face.

 

He’s always loved just how transparent Harry is, but since he came back, his honesty has kind of scared Louis.

 

Louis surprises himself with the realization that he isn’t scared anymore.

 

“Hey Lou,” Harry says, still playing it so casual. As if he just happened to end up over by Louis.

 

Which is plenty fine for Louis. He’s not even sure he can hide it himself anymore.

 

“How was your break?” Louis asks, glancing up at Harry with the biggest grin that he dares. Which is pretty damn big. Harry smiles right back, and there’s joy there. Joy that he hasn’t seen in so long. Joy that Louis hopes that he’s at least partially responsible for.

 

“It was okay I guess,” Harry responds, a bit bashfully. “Flew over early. Spent some time at Brian’s house. How about you?”

 

“Had Rovers stuff. And some other business in London.”

 

Louis wants to bottle and keep the awe that’s dawning over Harry’s face.

 

“You’re pretty amazing, you know,” Harry confesses quietly. “I can’t believe what you’ve done.”

 

Louis wants to confess that when you have no life and you’re sitting home alone, bored to tears and can’t possibly play another round of FIFA and drinking by yourself has long lost its attraction, there’s not much else to do but make more money.

 

Secretly, he would trade it all to have spent the last five years together. But there’s no point in thinking that way, Louis reminds himself. What happened was real life. And they’re lucky—they’ve still ended up here, with Harry practically batting his eyelashes at him and Louis knowing just how soft and flirty his own expression has become in the last five minutes.

 

If he was watching them, he would be positively disgusted. As it is though, he’s endeared and filled with hope. At first, he wasn’t even certain what it was, because it’s been so damn long since he felt it, but it’s definitely hope. And Louis wants to reach out and grab it and hold onto it so it can never escape again.

 

He kinda wants to do that with Harry too.

 

“You wanna hang out tonight?” Louis knows he’s not even close to casual when he asks. He’s eager, plain and simple. He just can’t contain it anymore. And Harry might as well know it.

 

Harry hesitates for a moment. If Louis didn’t know him so well, and wasn’t watching him so closely, he might not have noticed. But he does hesitate, and Louis re-discovers this deeply buried well of fear that he might be rejected. He hasn’t worried about it in years because there was nobody he cared about getting rejected by.

 

Until Harry.

 

“But I’m sure you’re going back to Brian’s,” Louis adds hurriedly. “It’s cool, if you are.”

 

“I’m not,” Harry says quickly. “I mean, I could. But,” and he offers this up shyly, gently, as if it’s his most precious possession and he’s entrusting it to Louis’ care, “I’d rather spend time with you.”

 

Louis feels a bit overwhelmed, but in a good way. He can only stare at his duffle and hope he doesn’t practically launch sunbeams out of his eyes when he glances back up at Harry. “I’d like that too.” He pauses. “But I don’t really want to stay around here. I mean, I kinda wanted to go out. Would that be okay?”

 

Louis doesn’t know what the rules are. He doesn’t care if they go to a club and just dance. He feels like he needs to do _something_ with all this extra energy _._ But he doesn’t know if that’s allowed. If Harry can even do that. If Harry would even _want_ to do that. The last thing he wants to do is push Harry into a situation that he can’t control—or one where he can’t control himself.

 

“Of course it would, Lou. What were you thinking of?” Harry says, an even brighter smile dawning. Louis realizes almost belatedly that they’ve never once gone _out_ since rekindling their friendship (if that’s what they’re even calling it; it feels a bit more like they’re back in high school, both very aware of a mutual crush and they’re cautiously, but excitedly, circling each other, waiting with baited breath to see what might happen). This might be their first date. If it would even _be_ a date. Louis isn’t sure.

 

“Um, well, I kinda wanted to, I don’t know, let loose a little. Lots of pent up energy. Need to get it out somehow.” Louis is afraid to even mention a club. He shouldn’t be, but he is. He wishes again that he was actually decent at communicating.

 

“I know a great place, if you wanna dance,” Harry suggests instantly, without even the slightest hesitation. “You used to love to dance.”

 

“I still do,” Louis says, “just don’t have the opportunity very often.”

 

“Louis,” Harry says, tone serious but eyes gleaming, “you have to _make_ the opportunity.”

 

“Should we make the opportunity tonight?”

 

Harry is beaming so hard, his face literally contorting with how fond he is right now, that he doesn’t even need to answer. Louis already knows his answer. But he still has to make sure.

 

“Is it. . .is it . . .okay? For you to go there, I mean.”

 

Harry’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

 

“Well, um, I assume this is like a regular club . . .” Louis trails off and mentally begs Harry, _don’t make me say it, please don’t make me say it._

“Louis, I’m a recovering alcoholic, not a mind reader.” Harry’s dimples are practically craters in his cheeks, which even at twenty five are still cherubic and adorable. Life is not fair. “Of course I can go. I’ve been lots of times. Brian thinks it’s good for people to learn to live with their disease, not hide from it.”

 

“You said though, like, way back in the summer, that it was easier if you’re not around it.” Louis remembers that day like it was yesterday. Harry’s words are practically branded into his brain. And he’s made very, very sure that the rule hasn’t been broken a single time since the tour started.

 

Harry shrugs. “Easier, maybe. But I feel a lot more confident, even more than I did back then. I won’t even be tempted. I promise.”

 

“If you’re sure.” Louis wants Harry to understand completely that if he’s not comfortable, then Louis isn’t comfortable.

 

“Absolutely.”

 

“What’s going on, lads?” Louis glances up to see Liam and Niall standing next to Harry.

 

“Oh, we’re going out,” Harry says.

 

Louis has to actively fight not to roll his eyes because he knows exactly what’s coming next. “I wanna go out!” Niall exclaims, because there has literally never been a time Niall _didn’t_ want to go out.

 

Liam, naturally, is a bit more careful. “Would it be okay if we joined?”

 

Louis thinks for a second and finds he doesn’t really mind, actually. Of course, it would be great with just him and Harry, that can’t be denied, but it’s not like they won’t get a chance to dance together or hang out, even if the other lads come. And it’s been a week, he’s _missed_ them.

 

Louis is beginning to wonder why on earth he ever thought it was a good idea to not only lock himself away from the rest of the world but from the people he loves most. And that definitely includes his best friends.

 

“Sure, that would be great,” Louis says, shooting Liam a friendly smile. “You should call Zayn too.”

 

Liam’s face darkens a little. “Pez and the baby flew over too,” he explains. “He’ll be spending the evening with them.”

 

Louis wants to haul Liam against his chest and comfort him but knowing Liam, he’d hate that. So they’ll go and make asses of themselves instead. Liam usually enjoys that.

\----

The club that Harry takes them to is deep in the city, has got a huge dance floor, and though there’s a rather large bar, its tucked off to the side. Louis glances over the writhing crowd, moving in unison to the pulsing beat, and notes there aren’t a lot of glasses in hands.

 

He’s not entirely sure how Harry found this place, but it suits them perfectly.

 

Harry is wearing a pair of his still-ridiculously tight jeans, and a nearly translucent black button-up, the butterfly tattooed on his skin peeking through the gaping opening. He sticks his hands in his pockets awkwardly, mostly because his jeans are so tight there isn’t much room for huge hands, but even with the awkwardness, he’s so bone-meltingly hot that Louis wants to sink to the floor. Maybe even wants to sink to the floor in front of Harry.

 

No, there is no _maybe_ about it as even the thought fizzles along every nerve ending in his body. He _definitely_ wants to get on his knees for Harry again. If he’s being really honest with himself, he wants it no matter what Harry looks like—even when he’s tired and frazzled from a show, hair pulled back haphazardly in a bun, baggy joggers and a worn jumper on. But when he looks like _this_ it’s like trying to resist the pull of gravity.

 

Louis glances over at Harry, shyly, and isn’t surprised to see that Harry’s looking right back. “You wanna dance?” Harry asks, and Louis doesn’t understand why Harry seems to think he’ll be turned down.

 

Well, he does understand. But that was before, and this is now, and that was the whole point of them coming to a club.

 

Louis wants to dance and he wants to dance with Harry.

 

“Okay,” he says and he reaches for Harry’s hand before he can freak out and change his mind. He’s going to do this. He’s decided. He’s going to make his desire as blatantly obvious tonight as he can. Maybe he can’t say the words, but he can definitely speak well enough with his hips. Well enough for Harry to get the point, anyway.

 

Harry’s hand is damp under his, the palm completely engulfing his own. He’d also have to be a lot more out of it to realize that Harry’s fingers are trembling.

 

“You okay?” Louis asks, leaning in towards Harry’s neck so he can hear him. Louis wants to know why Harry’s trembling. Is it the bar just across the room? Or is it Louis in front of him? He wouldn’t even bother, but Louis tells himself it’s only kind of an egotistical question. He _does_ want Harry to be okay, and not jeopardize his recovery by being here.

 

But Harry’s answer is a bright, confident smile and a quick squeeze of Louis’ fingers before his hand trails across his forearm, dropping down to rest lightly at his waist.

 

 _Is this okay?_ Harry’s gaze asks.

 

Louis swallows hard and fits his hand to the perfect swell of Harry’s hip. _Yes._ That’s his answer and there’s no going back now, but as soon as they start to move, hesitatingly, haltingly, both so nervous and so needy, Louis is sure he’s made the right decision.

 

Nothing has ever felt more right than the two of them dancing together. It doesn’t take very long, but they find a mutual rhythm, like a needle of a record player settling into the groove. It’s not perfect but it feels beyond flawless.

 

One song melts into the next just as Louis finds himself melting more and more into Harry, their feet shuffling closer and closer together until he knows just one wide swing of his hips would find Harry and they’d touch. Harry’s hand is so hot, practically sizzling through the cotton of his t-shirt, and Louis wants to lift up to his tiptoes and press his lips right to the damp, salty skin of Harry’s neck and tell him to _touch_ him. To lift up the useless fabric and finally put his hands all over him the way he used to. Louis feels like he’s fucking burning for it.

 

Louis hopes that the feeling is pretty mutual. He hasn’t bothered to glance down, to check the situation in those ridiculously tight jeans Harry wears, but he’s fairly certain of what he’d find. He knows what his own dick situation is, and he’ll be the first to admit he’s getting kind of desperate. He needs some friction, though if he gets what he wants, he might actually come in his pants, and that’s not exactly ideal either.

 

So instead of telling Harry to do it, Louis slowly slides his hand up Harry’s hip, relishing in the curve. Everyone used to talk about Louis being the curvy one, and yeah, Harry is definitely long and lean, but he’s still got curves. Perfect curves. Louis used to love tracing them for hours, used to adore how subtly his torso flowed into his hips, into his thighs, into the cutest little bubble of an ass.

 

Okay, maybe not _used_ to. Maybe he’s still got all those same feelings, it’s just been so long that Louis is plain overwhelmed to feel Harry under his hands again. Then he slips his fingers gently under the loose hem of Harry’s shirt and settles his hand more confidently than he feels onto the bare skin of Harry’s hip. His skin is soft as satin and even though just the touching feels intense, the reality of it pounding through his veins, settling in his cock until Louis wonders if he’ll ever be soft again, he desperately wants to trace the path of his hand with his tongue. Just that, and Louis is pretty sure he’d come from only from the taste of Harry’s skin, more of a randy teenager than he ever was as an actual teenager.

 

Harry jars a bit under his touch, but Louis glances up to make sure he’s okay still, and the light in Harry’s eyes is shining like the brightest stage spotlight. He’s glowing and it’s all because of Louis.

 

Then he smirks a little, and Louis can only barely react to that, because it’s fucking hot as hell, and then Harry’s own hand is sliding back, right down along the curve of his bum. He drags Louis closer and closer and then they’re fitting together, hips slotted just so, and Louis can’t help but throw his head back and groan.

 

Harry’s slender, muscular thigh is rubbing right along Louis’ cock and it feels like heaven. The tips of Harry’s five fingers dig into the flesh of his bum and the other hand curls protectively and perfectly around his back. Louis usually hates feeling small, but he’s always been incredibly aroused by how big Harry’s become in relation to his own stature. And in this moment, Harry is all around him, and Louis can’t help but look up into Harry’s gorgeous face and let him see just how much it turns him on.

 

As soon as he does, it’s a mistake because Harry’s lips are red and wet and there and Louis wants to kiss him again. He wants to kiss him and make out and ride his thigh until he comes literally in the middle of this club. He doesn’t even care who sees them. Everything he’s spent the last five years denying himself is right here, so close he can practically taste it on his tongue and he just doesn’t have the resolve to resist anymore.

 

So he rises up, fingers still gripping the skin of Harry’s waist, and kisses him. He goes slow, so Harry knows what’s coming and Louis says a little prayer when Harry doesn’t move or dodge him. He waits patiently and lets it happen.

 

Their lips meet and everything in Louis’ brain goes white and fuzzy. They’ve kissed once since Harry was back, but they weren’t in a very good place back then. Then it was a mistake. This isn’t a mistake. This is the best damn thing Louis has ever felt. He thinks he hears Harry groan into his mouth and he’s pretty sure there’s going to be fingerprint-sized bruises scattered over his skin tomorrow but the way Harry crushes him to his body only turns Louis on more until he’s burning up from the inside out.

 

Louis gasps a little, and Harry slips his tongue in and even though he’s completely sober, Louis can’t believe how drunk he feels. And it’s only on Harry.

 

The kiss is deepening, lengthening, getting dirty and filthy, almost, as Louis doesn’t so much as learn Harry as much as he remembers him, reacquainting himself with every single little quirk that Harry used to love when they kissed. He’s stroking Harry’s tongue with his own in just the right way when they get jostled a little by the crowd, and they have to break apart.

 

Louis feels like he’s only maybe a touch or two away from coming in his pants, dick hard and leaking in his jeans, and the way Harry is looking at him, lips bright and shiny from Louis’ mouth, pupils blown out, breath coming in pants, convince Louis that he’s in nearly the same position.

 

He’s just about to open his mouth and suggest they find a more private spot when Harry speaks first. “I’m. . .I could use a break,” he croaks. “You want to get a drink?”  


It’s testament to just how much Harry has currently short-circuited Louis’ brain that for a second he doesn’t quite connect the dots.

 

He frowns for a second, then realizes what kind of drink Harry meant. The _non-alcoholic_ kind. “Right yeah,” Louis says, and feels more heat sizzle up his spine as Harry guides him off the dance floor, his hands all over his back and hips and arse. Harry is practically staking claim to Louis’ body right there in the club and Louis is so close to letting him.

 

Who’s he kidding? He’s totally letting him.

 

They approach the bar and Louis can’t help the frisson of apprehension he feels. But Harry doesn’t stutter, doesn’t even hesitate. He just leans over, and orders two Cokes from the bartender.

 

The bartender is back in a second, and Louis wonders if he recognized them. If maybe there will be more rumors swirling around them tomorrow. He wonders if he even cares anymore.

 

Harry drops a few bills on the bar and Louis picks up the glasses and they move over to an empty table in the corner. Louis doesn’t want Harry to let go of him but it would be probably way awkward to share a chair, even though they used to all the time.  So Louis disengages and moves to one chair and Harry to the other.

 

They stare at each other for a minute, and then Louis realizes he’s still holding their drinks and he slides one of the glasses across the sticky table towards Harry. The music is loud and they can’t really talk and Louis isn’t even the tiniest bit ashamed that he’s glad for that. He knows they _should_ be talking, or rather Louis should be talking, but it’s so good to only feel.

 

Harry lifts his drink to his lips and Louis feels his entire insides freeze at the expression that crosses his face. There’s disgust and revulsion—but it’s more than that, it’s deeper, it’s almost as if Harry is going to be.  . .which makes no sense because Harry isn’t drunk. He hasn’t even had _one_ drink.

 

But it doesn’t matter, Louis is moving so fast that it’s practically muscle memory. He spent too many years taking care of Harry for it to be anything but second nature, even if it’s been five years. He grabs Harry’s arm and he’s practically lifting and dragging him in the direction of the toilets. He is afraid to even so much as glance at Harry’s face, terrified at what he might find there. All he knows is that Harry’s skin has gone cold and clammy against his, and if his fingers were slightly trembling before, when they held hands, they’re downright shaking now. _Harry_ is shaking, Louis corrects himself, his own body quivering a little in sympathetic response. In fear, too, of what has happened.

 

After what feels like an eternity but is probably only twenty seconds, they’re in the loo and Louis opens the door to find a few men milling about, zipping up their trousers, fixing their hair in the mirror.

 

“Out! Out!” he yells, finding again, all these years later, that absolute sense of authority. He hasn’t used it in a long time, but he must still have it and it must still be effective because the loo clears in under ten seconds and Louis is depositing his precious bundle into the stall. Harry sinks down in front of the toilet, shaking like a leaf, his elbows propped up on the seat, his head in his hands.

 

“Harry, Harry, tell me what’s wrong,” Louis leans down, crooning to Harry, terrified for what’s happened. He doesn’t understand, can’t possibly comprehend—all he knows is that Harry’s upset and that’s enough for him to take on the world to right whatever’s tipped Harry’s boat.

 

Louis thought he’d grown out of his white knight complex but apparently it just took a long sabbatical and waited until Harry was back, ensconced in his life, to make its reappearance.

 

“I. . .I. . .” Harry’s voice is so thin, so weak, and without even thinking, Louis whips his cell phone out of his pocket. “I’m going to call Liam and then Brian. We need to get you out of here. Back to someplace safe.” Louis doesn’t care where that is, only that he has to make Harry stop shaking like that.

 

“No,” Harry says, grabbing Louis’ wrist as he attempts to dial. “No.” His voice is a bit stronger now. “I’ll be okay. I just need a minute.”

 

Louis gives Harry the minute. He would give him pretty much whatever he wanted. That might not be right or fair but it’s reality. It’s always been reality.

 

Harry takes several long, deep breaths, clearly trying to calm down. Louis helps as much as he can, rubbing Harry’s back, hoping that it’ll be soothing.

 

“That . . .there was alcohol in that Coke,” Harry finally says.

 

Louis isn’t really an angry person. He can be rude and sassy and difficult. But he doesn’t tend to get angry. He gets angry now. “What the fuck,” he spits out, “someone gave you alcohol?”  


“It was a mistake, probably,” Harry says, and there’s misery in his tone. “Maybe the bartender thought I said Jack and Coke. I don’t know. But I smelled it. . .”

 

Louis isn’t sure he understands. “But you didn’t even drink it.”

 

“I didn’t,” Harry whispers, and the look in his eyes skewers Louis right in the gut. “I didn’t have to. Just the smell. . .” he trails off and Louis realizes that he’s shuddering now, and then he makes a horrible gagging noise, like he’s remembering the scent of the booze on the air and that alone is enough to make him vomit.

 

“Harry,” Louis says carefully when he’s calmed down again, taking long, loose breaths.

 

“I told you,” Harry interrupts before Louis can even ask. “The only thing that ever worked for me. Aversion therapy.”

 

Objectively, Louis has some concept of what aversion therapy is. He’s not a total idiot. He’s done some research online. He read some. He’s asked Brian a few questions, even. But knowing what aversion therapy is and seeing the result of it is something else entirely. Harry can’t even _smell_ alcohol that close without nearly getting very, very sick.

 

Louis’ heart just hurts. This is what Harry was driven to. This is the very length to which Harry will go to return, intact and whole and no longer plagued by his demons. _This_ is the cost of Harry being Harry again and possibly being with Louis.

 

The very first thought Louis has is that he cannot possibly be worth this. That _nothing_ is worth this. But the second is that he’s wrong. Harry didn’t really _have_ a life before. When he was drinking, he let the alcohol control him. Now it still does, but it’s a power that he’s corralled and uses so he’ll never touch it again.

 

Louis isn’t sure he likes it still, but he is terrifyingly, achingly proud of Harry, who is so much stronger than he ever imagined. His sweet, adorable little Harry has grown a spine of steel and it makes Louis love him even more.

 

“I’m so proud of you,” Louis says, and he wraps his arms around every part of Harry he possibly can. Which isn’t nearly enough. He hugs him as tightly as he dares, still afraid that Harry might be suffering some ill effects from his nausea.

 

“You’re not. . .like . . .ashamed?” Harry sounds wary. Nervous. He lifts himself from the floor and sits down on the toilet in front of Louis, who’s still crouched on the floor. He doesn’t even care that it’s filthy and disgusting.

 

“Ashamed?” Louis doesn’t even understand.

 

“Of what just happened. Of _me_.”

 

Louis can’t help but give a bitter laugh. “Babe, never. _Never_. I am so proud. So unbelievably in awe of what you’ve done.”

 

Harry relaxes a bit more into Louis’ arms. He’s quiet for a long time. Then he finally speaks again. “I thought you’d be disgusted.”

 

“By you? Never.” Louis has never been more honest in his life. “I don’t care if you puke all over me, which you have done, I will remind you, many times. If it happens again, and it happens for this reason, I’ll be there and I’ll be supporting you the whole way through. Just like before.”

 

Harry sniffles a little and Louis feels a bit like crying too. Which is not at all how he thought this evening was going to go, but maybe that’s alright. Maybe this was a conversation they needed to have. Louis is beginning to realize, at the very least, that he definitely needed to understand the gravity of Harry’s recovery.

 

“I. . .” Louis can’t understand what exactly is prompting him to try to talk now, but he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Not when after all this time, the words seem to finally be coming. “I hope that it was okay. What happened before.”

 

Harry’s nose crinkles in confusion. “I don’t know what you mean?”  
  
“Like,” Louis says, gesturing between them, “like the kissing. And the dancing.” He is still not good at this talking thing. And the sad thing is, he really used to be. He was definitely the best communicator in their relationship.

 

Well, no longer.

 

Harry’s gone from confused to downright frowning. “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

 

Louis shoots the silly boy in front of him an impatient look. “Well you did stop us.”

 

Harry’s frown melts right off his face and then he giggles. He straight up _giggles_. “Lou,” he murmurs, ducking low until Louis can feel his hot breath against his ear and he can’t help the shiver that ripples up his spine at the sensation. “Did you want me to come right there, on the dance floor?” He sounds helpless and already a little wrecked even though unfortunately there hadn’t been any coming. Yet. Louis tells himself the night is still young and all it’ll take is a few more of Harry’s gruff sex words murmured into his ear and he’ll be hard again.

 

Louis can’t help it, he groans a little and Harry just continues. “Like that idea, do you?” He pauses, his hand reaching down to grasp Louis’ thigh and he wants nothing more than for Harry to slip it higher and higher until he’s touching his dick. He’s waited so damn long and he can barely stand the thought of waiting longer.

 

“So hot,” Harry pants into his ear and Louis barely restrains himself from shoving his dick into Harry’s face.

 

“So hot for _you_ ,” Louis moans, not even caring if he’s being loud. They’re in the loo of a club. He figures they’ve fooled around in enough of them—what’s one more?

 

Harry pulls back again, and Louis wants to cry.

 

“Not here. Not now,” Harry says gently, as if he has to break it to him carefully.

 

“Why?” Louis is all too aware of how high and whiny his voice has gotten.

 

Harry’s eyes are serious and contemplative as he reaches up, cupping Louis’ cheeks in his big, warm hands. “I love you very much. I don’t want this to be just a thing we do when we’re out having fun. I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and regret it.”

 

“I won’t, I swear.” Louis knows he’s begging, but he can’t seem to help it.

 

“Do you forgive me?”

 

Louis’ jaw drops a little. “What? What do you mean?” he stutters out. But he’s afraid he understands perfectly what Harry means and a sick, fearful feeling settles deep in his stomach.

 

“Do you forgive me?” Harry repeats and there’s that steel again. His resolve is like nothing Louis has ever seen before. He’d be in awe of it, but right now it’s preventing him from getting off and that just sucks, as far as he’s concerned.

 

“I could seduce you, you know,” Louis announces recklessly, pretty blatantly changing the subject even though deep down he knows he’s not going to get away with it.

 

Harry just smiles and shakes his head a little. “Probably not, though I’d enjoy watching you try,” he admits.

 

Louis pouts. “I . . .” He doesn’t know what to say. He is pretty sure he hasn’t forgiven Harry yet. He’s gotten closer. He’s not angry at him anymore. But forgiveness—especially for what Harry did—that is a _lot_ to ask.

 

“It’s okay,” Harry says and it seems like it actually is. Harry doesn’t seem particularly hurt or upset. More . . .resigned, Louis thinks.

 

“Will you kiss me again?” Louis has discovered he has very little shame, glancing up at Harry under fluttering eyelashes, trying to look all soft and cute the way he did so many years ago when they first met and Harry seemed awestruck every time he even so much as looked Louis’ direction.

 

“I’ll kiss you all you want to. But no sex.” Harry seems pretty determined on this point and Louis’ cock would be crying if it was capable of producing tears. “I want it all with you,” Harry admits with a rueful grin. “I can’t take just some of it. You’re all mine again or we’re not together.”

 

“But kissing is okay?” Louis isn’t sure he understands exactly.

 

“Babe, if you want to make out with me, I’m probably not capable of stopping you. Or myself.” Harry flushes now, like he’s a little embarrassed that Louis has discovered just how easy he is. But Louis already knew that.

 

But kissing, Louis can work with that. Five years ago, Louis was pretty much the king of Harry’s sexual satisfaction. He can wear Harry down. He’s got to be confident because if he’s not, he’s just going to curl up in the fetal position and weep with desperation.

 

Briefly, he considers going in for the kill, bending Harry over this dirty toilet and making _him_ beg for it, but then Louis reconsiders.

 

Harry is confident he can withstand the sexual onslaught that Louis is about to unleash. Maybe Louis shouldn’t try to sprint to the finish. Maybe he should gradually wear Harry down. His poor dick weeps at the thought of a potentially long seduction, but there’s that strangely steely look to Harry these days. Louis has got to get around that and he can’t by being too obvious.

 

“Okay,” he says, reaching for Harry’s hand and pulling him to his feet. “Then let’s dance some more.”

 

A flash of suspicion crosses over Harry’s face but then it’s gone, fading as Louis squeezes his hand and happiness overtakes his features.

 

And as they dance away the hours, if Louis dances close and tight, rubbing his body all over Harry’s shamelessly, marking up his neck with one love bite after another until they’re kissing hopelessly and endlessly, you can’t blame him because Louis has never wanted someone as much as he wants Harry.

 

It’s not even close; it’s not even a competition. Except well, it kind of is. And Louis is determined to win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](http://bethaboolou.tumblr.com/)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for so many wonderful comments on this fic. The updates have not been as regular as I've wanted, but we're in the home stretch!
> 
> "The Courage or the Fall" Civil Twilight

It’s funny; when Louis was put into a boy band almost ten years ago, he certainly didn’t think he’d be spending quite so much time in quite so many meetings.

 

But if he’s learned one thing about the music industry, it’s that they love meetings just as much as about anybody else.

 

It helps that Bernard’s not in charge of this particular meeting. He’s here—most likely because he knows his presence will piss Louis off more than anything else—but he’s not running it.

 

Liam is.

 

Louis already knows what Liam wants to discuss. Liam’s already told him, even though he hasn’t told anybody else. Louis wonders if he’d told Liam to forget it, if this meeting would be happening at all. Truthfully, he isn’t even sure why he didn’t just tell Liam to fuck off and forget the whole thing. He could have and it’s possible Liam would have. Because as good as this might be for the five of them professionally, Liam is something beyond loyal and something way beyond considerate.

 

Louis wonders if Liam even showed him the emails because Liam was secretly hoping he’d kill the entire idea before it even began. The Louis of six months ago certainly would have. He would have growled sourly, gone back to his lonely, sad little cave and wrapped up in his own self-pity.

 

He might peek into the cave once in awhile still—usually when Harry’s passively-aggressively pressuring Louis to forgive him so they can _finally_ have sex again—but Louis doesn’t want to go back there. That part of his life is done.

 

He’s still not entirely certain what lies ahead.

 

In the end, that’s why this meeting is happening.

 

“Got a few emails from management,” Liam says thoughtfully, as if he himself isn’t certain what to think of them. “Sales figures and such from the single. It’s selling really well. Even getting some strong radio play.”

 

Louis is curious if the real reason why is the raging inferno of gossip about him and Harry and the status of their relationship, but he doesn’t say anything. Sales are sales, radio plays are radio plays. Even if people bought their music for the wrong reason, they’ve still bought it. He’s not going to complain.

 

“Probably because they’re convinced there’s some kind of magic secret decoder ring in the song, like if you play it backwards, Louis tells the world how much he wants to shag. . .”

 

“Thank you, Nialler,” Louis spits out before Niall can get to the inevitable end of that sentence. Like the world needs to be more aware of just how desperately he wants to shag his ex-boyfriend. He glances over at Harry, wondering if he should even be embarrassed that Haz has heard this entire exchange, but Harry’s expression is one big dimpled grin. He looks entirely pleased with himself. It definitely won’t help anything, but Louis really, _really_ wants to kiss him.

 

He’s tried to keep the kissing mainly to a minimum—limiting kissing to the kinds of opportunities that might lead to something more and ultimately might help convince Harry that Louis’ forgivingness just isn’t necessary. But so far, Louis has frustratingly struck out on that front. Harry will definitely let Louis kiss him, but only to a point. He’ll let him touch him, but only to a point. He’ll be all melting and sweet and docile until Louis goes for his dick and then that fucking annoying spine of steel is back again.

 

Louis is proud and all of how much self-control Harry’s found, but Louis also wants to get laid almost as much as he wants to breathe at this point.

 

“Yes, I think we’re all pretty aware,” Liam adds in with a bit of a snarky look in Louis’ direction. “And that might be why they’re buying, but since they _are_ buying, management’s become interested in what else they might buy.”

 

“What do you mean?” Zayn asks. “Like more music?”

 

Louis knows exactly where Liam is going and he still gets a bit breathless when Liam says, “like a new album.”

 

“A greatest hits album?” Harry asks but Liam just shakes his head. “No, new music. I mean, we did have some songs recorded from before, and we could record a handful of more. Then do a bit of promo at the end of the tour.”

 

“Let me get this straight,” Niall pipes in. “They’re serious about this. Like, this isn’t just a flash in the pan reunion tour or anything anymore.”

 

Anyone who believes Niall’s just a stupid, drunk Irishman is usually taken aback by his keen intelligence. Even Louis is sometimes, but Niall’s also the only one who’s figured it out. It even took Louis a minute or two longer.

 

“That’s exactly what they want. They want more than just a reunion tour. They want us to release an album and potentially get back together.”

 

There’s a hush around the room, and when Louis glances up, he’s rather dumbstruck that everyone is looking at _him_. Like he’s the only one they’re worried about.

 

“Shit,” Louis whines, “that isn’t fair.”

 

“You’re the stubborn one, babe,” Zayn says with a hint of a smile playing across his face. “Definitely most likely to throw up a roadblock.”

 

Louis has had days to think about this. He took time after Liam told him. Then after he told Liam to go ahead and broach the idea to the others, there’s been another forty eight hours before this meeting even happened. He’s had plenty of time to get used to the idea, to work his head around it and decide that it’s not something he’d be entirely opposed to. How he got to that particular place, he’s not entirely sure. But maybe it boils down to the simple concept that he fucking missed his boys.

 

“Not roadblocking now,” Louis admits quietly.

 

“You’re really not,” Zayn states and he sounds legitimately surprised.

 

“Harry, what do you think?” Liam says, because Harry’s really the only one who isn’t saying anything. Louis glances over and sees that Harry’s suddenly very interested in the pattern of the worn carpeting on the green room floor.

 

“Not sure, honestly,” Harry admits. “Never really thought it was a possibility. But I’ve always believed we were stronger together than apart.”

 

For so long, for _years_ , Louis feels like he’s been searching for those old pieces of himself. The ones that scattered to the wind when Harry left and One Direction broke up and he shattered into a million bitter, angry shards.

 

He’s not complete by any means, but he’s slowly begun to assemble them again. Some of the pieces are newer. Some of them are worn, like old friends, comfortable and sure. Some of them aren’t pieces he ever expected to get back, like Harry.

 

When Harry looks up at him, meets his eyes and smiles soft and warm, Louis feels another piece settle back in place. “We’d do it differently this time round,” Harry continues to speak, but his eyes never leave Louis’. “Better.”

 

“Better,” Louis echoes. “Definitely better.”

 

“Helps that most teenage girls think we’re old and washed up,” Niall says with a bright grin.

 

“Speak for yourself,” Louis retorts. “I’m like a fine wine. I only get better with age.”

 

“So it’s a yes, then, it sounds like,” Liam says, like he can barely believe it. But Louis does. Louis knew as soon as Liam told him that even though he has no idea what he wants to do in five years, he wants to have these four back.

 

“It’s a yes,” Zayn says and he’s really smiling too, now.

 

But Louis still hasn’t been able to tear his eyes away from Harry.

 

\--

 

Before the show, Louis calls his mum and gets her, breathless and busy, as she bustles through the house. “Need a favor,” he says.

 

“Well, since you’re a big shot again and all,” she teases lightly.

 

“Seriously, mum,” Louis groans. “Don’t know if you’ll have time to get to London, anytime soon,” he starts out cautiously and she just interrupts him. “Lou, if you need me to go, I’m there tomorrow.”

 

“Need some journals and papers and stuff shipped to me.”

 

“Journals and papers?” Her voice is arch and curious and Louis isn’t sure he wants to tell her but he supposes she’ll find out sooner or later, and if she finds out from someone other than him, she’ll not be pleased.

 

“Songwriting stuff,” he admits. “I guess we’re going to start writing again.”

 

“We’re?” she asks again, even more archly this time. “You and Liam? For some of your other clients?”  


He’s both terrified and proud when he tells her, “No, for us. For me and the other lads.”

 

There’s a prolonged silence on the line and for a second, Louis is afraid he’s lost her. Or even worse, she thinks he’s a stupid arse for getting caught all up in this again, when the loss of it nearly brought him to his knees last time.

 

“Oh, Boo bear,” she finally whispers, “I’m so proud of you.”

 

Louis is almost thirty years old. But even he will get a little teary-eyed when his mum talks to him in _that_ kind of unbearably proud, loving voice.

 

\---

 

The box comes a few days later, post-marked some ridiculous amount of pounds that makes Louis smile in spite of himself.

 

He’s not sure what he’s looking for but as soon as he opens the box and starts digging through his songwriting journals, he actually does. He knows exactly the song he’s looking for. He’s hoping that during some of the darker times, he didn’t just tear it to pieces, or even worse, burn it to ashes.

 

One frantic scramble through the box later, he finds it buried in the pages of one of his journals, the pages a bit wrinkled and yellowed from five years of sitting in his spare room.

 

He reads through it and there’s definitely a bit of fear there, when he reads the words and absorbs just how strongly he used to feel. It’s terrifying to revisit his old feelings, right before everything went to shit, but there’s also a kind of unvarnished, naïve honesty there too. Like before his life was destroyed, and he lost everything, this was something Louis believed in completely.

 

He tells himself it’s a good song—a _great_ song—but maybe it’s more than that. He’s not entirely sure.

 

\--

 

The next meeting is chaos.

 

Niall’s brought his guitar and he’s strumming out chords. Liam’s trying to get everyone’s attention, because he wants to play for them the last few tracks they recorded before they disbanded.

 

Louis remembers they did good work on the unfinished album, and he’s tried to will away any trepidation he feels at revisiting those dark days. He’s pretty certain none of those blacker emotions made it into the songs they wrote together, but it’s hard to be certain. Five years is a long time.

 

“Nialler,” Liam huffs out in annoyance. “I am going to take that away _permanently._ ”

 

“This is why we didn’t write together,” Harry says to Louis in a murmured whisper. “ _Chaos_.”

 

Louis nods, even though right now he’s a little captivated by the pretty pink flush on Harry’s cheeks and the brightness of his eyes and the little tendrils escaping his bun that drag across the white smoothness of his neck. Louis wants to wind each of those curls around his fingers, pull Harry close to him, and kiss him until good intentions are a remnant of the past.

 

Zayn is the one who confiscates Niall’s guitar, and Liam finally plays the songs.

 

They’re good. Objectively, Louis knows he’s grown as a songwriter. But there is some really quality stuff in _Fireproof_ and _Night Changes_. _Steal My Girl_ feels outdated and Liam is already talking about an alternate arrangement, maybe even shifting some of the lyrics around a bit. _Girl Almighty_ isn’t one they wrote themselves, but it’s still a good jam.

 

That’s when Harry pipes up. “I’ve got a. . .well I’ve got a song, if we wanted to use it. A new song.”

 

Harry plays them his rough demo that he recorded on his phone. It’s quite a bit more upbeat than a lot of Harry’s other songs, but Louis recognizes the same thread that winds through so many of Harry’s lyrics.

 

Louis tries to listen objectively, _reasonably_ , but as he hears more and more, all he wants to do is drag Harry into the nearest, most convenient closet and cuddle him near and close. It’s so heartfelt and sweet and earnest and so _Harry._ And like so many of Harry’s songs, it’s also all about Louis.

 

“Where do broken hearts go. . .” Niall hums and strums his un-confiscated guitar along to the final chorus. “I like it Haz. It’s really solid.”

 

“Good stuff,” Liam says, throwing Louis a pointed glance, like he is actually genuinely concerned that Louis won’t like it. Like maybe Louis hasn’t figured out that it’s about him.

 

Liam must think Louis is a moron.

 

“I think we could even do a bit more work on that bridge,” Niall continues, still playing, toying with some alternate melodies. “And I think we should have Louis at the end.”

 

“We already did that once,” Louis inserts. “We shouldn’t repeat _Something Great_.”

 

“Not like that,” Niall says. “Like it’s still all of us, but we pull you to the front of the mix. And we add in a line that hints you’re waiting to be found and like a clue of where to find you. An answer to the rest of the song.”

 

“Niall,” Louis huffs with no small amount of amusement, “you’re making a rather huge assumption here.” He can’t really help the apologetic smile he sends Harry’s direction, but honestly, they’re _all_ thinking it.

 

“Not so huge, actually,” Harry corrects with a guileless smile in return. “I like the idea.”

 

It takes them about an hour to hammer out something rough but Louis really likes the effect. It’s a bit haunting and makes you really _think_ , right at the end of a rocking pop song. It’s that little extra touch he likes to put into his own work and he realizes as he scribbles down an alternative wording to the line that he never realized that he got that from these four here. That something he’s done for years when writing a song can be traced back to sessions he had with these lads when he was barely twenty.

 

It’s kind of an intoxicating thought.

 

And since he’s riding a bit of the creative high, of course that’s when he pulls out his own song and gives it to Niall. “Just a simple guitar, I think,” Louis tells him as they read over the music, “maybe a bit of piano.”

 

Niall laughs out loud when he reads through it. “Well, of course, if we’re singing songs written by Harry about Louis, then the next most obvious track would be a song about Harry, written by _Louis_.”

 

Liam leans over Louis’ shoulder and scans the sheet. “Lou’s got about ten thousand of these stocked up for a rainy day,” he says casually. “But this is definitely one of his better efforts. Let’s give it a listen, Niall.”

 

“What’s this?” Harry is suddenly there, leaning over Niall’s shoulder and Louis can’t help the defensiveness that suddenly washes over him. He has to force himself to relax and to work through the fear, through the idea that he’s just been caught with his pants down. Metaphorically, of course.

 

“Oh, just one of many, many, _many_ love songs Tommo’s written for you, darling,” Niall croons along to the music he’s playing. “Lovely, isn’t it?”

 

“Sounds a bit like Coldplay,” Harry says, his cheeks flushing even pinker as Liam starts singing the lyrics. And okay, they’re admittedly quite sappy and very, _very_ romantic. Louis was never ashamed of how much he loved Harry. Truth is, he’s not even that ashamed now.

 

“It’s only missing a boat,” Zayn adds in and Louis flips him the bird behind his back. That is really not amusing.

 

“I’m sure Tommo could work in a nautical phrase somewhere,” Niall giggles.

 

“Don’t,” Harry says when the song finally ends. “Don’t change a thing about it.” His look up at Louis is soft and fond, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “I love it just the way it is.”

 

Niall is giggling again, muttering something about lovesick idiots, but Louis doesn’t care. Shame feels like a completely foreign concept when he’s faced with Harry’s sweet smile and tender eyes.

 

By the time they leave the meeting, there’s another few songs set, and Louis can’t even believe that this is his life. They’re only a few months away from releasing a brand new One Direction album. It doesn’t feel possible that just twelve months ago, he was directionless and numb.

 

He has a lot to be thankful for, and almost every single thing begins and ends with Harry.

 

\--

 

Later that night after the show, Louis can’t sleep.

 

He’s buzzing with energy, from the afternoon’s songwriting and from the show.

 

He meant to check in with Harry while they were still at the venue and find out his plans for the evening, but for once, it’s Harry who ducks out quick and early, and Louis is left feeling more than a little ignored and a lot bored without him.

 

Harry isn’t answering his calls or his texts, and when he goes to knock on Harry’s door, he’s not in his room either.

 

Louis hesitates, staring at the white paneled wood, and then taking a resigned breath, dials Bernard’s number. Bernard sounds just as surprised as Louis expected when he answers the phone.

 

“Louis?” Bernard asks warily. No doubt he thinks this is just another prank in a very long line. And Louis almost wishes it was, but he’s got more important things on his mind. First and foremost, he needs to find Harry. He can’t even explain it, but he’s craving him, like he might go crazy if he can’t see him or talk to him. He knows there was a time only a few months ago when it was almost too much to even be in the same room as him, but that’s long passed now. And Louis wonders, for a split second, if that _means_ something. Or even _what_ that means.

 

“Harry’s friend, Brian,” Louis snaps out impatiently, “what room number is he in?”

 

Bernard gives a long exasperated sigh. “Of course, you need something.”

 

“I wouldn’t be calling you otherwise,” Louis hisses out, under his breath. Not quite quiet enough for Bernard to miss.

 

He knows it’s rude, and that some of the lads have even begun to be a bit friendly with Bernard, but Louis remembers all too well Bernard’s patronizing attitude at the very beginning of all this. How he expected them to fail and practically taunted them with it. How many times he’s taunted Louis over his obsession with Harry.

 

Basically, Louis doesn’t feel bad. In the slightest.

 

“1403,” Bernard finally says. “He’s in 1403.”

 

Information received, he vaguely considers just hanging up, but decides he’s not that much of an ass, so he says a quick, hurried, “thanks,” and prowls down the hall, searching for Brian’s room.

 

Brian opens the door with a confused expression on his face. “Louis,” he says kindly, “were we supposed to meet up?”

 

“Just looking for Harry,” Louis says, a bit too frantic by now to even try to pretend he’s casual about it. Besides, he’s kind of come to terms with the fact that if anyone knows how much he cares about Harry, it’s probably Brian.

 

“Everything okay?” Brian asks, concern evident on his face. “You seem a bit frazzled.”

 

“Just need Harry and he’s not answering his phone and he’s not in his room.” Louis really hopes Brian doesn’t look any closer.

 

But it seems his words have already given him away. “You _need_ him?” Brian asks with a raised eyebrow.

 

Louis could lie. He could say it was merely a slip of the tongue. He could also say it’s for something important, some sort of band business. But it’s not. The only reason he needs Harry is that he literally _needs_ him.

 

“I do,” Louis finally says quietly.

 

A warm smile breaks through the concern on Brian’s face. “I’m glad. Really, really glad.” He pauses. “But Louis, just don’t. . .” he hesitates again, “please don’t just lead him on. He loves you so much. He wants to keep believing that you aren’t getting back together because if he does, and it doesn’t happen, it’ll hurt too much.”

 

Louis swallows hard. “I wouldn’t ever lead him on.”

 

“Not on purpose, maybe.” Brian leans casually against the doorjamb, but Louis can tell perfectly well that Brian is anything but casual right now. He’s serious—deadly, even.

 

“Not even then,” Louis says, and it sounds a bit like a vow. “I’m still trying to figure so much of this out, but it’s . . . it’s getting better. We’re better.”

 

“He said he was going for a swim up on the roof,” Brian finally admits. “Needed some space.”

 

Louis isn’t sure if that means he should stay away. Even though he really does need Harry, he still wants what _Harry_ needs even more.

 

That’s new too. Or not really new, more like a return of feelings that never really faded, Louis just buried them deep enough that he’d never have to face them.

 

He’s beginning to face them now. It’s scary and terrifying but also quite familiar and reassuring at the same time.

 

“Oh,” Louis says after a long, rather awkward pause. He wants to ask, but he doesn’t know how.

 

“Not from you,” Brian says with a laugh. “Trust me, not from you.”

 

Louis knows he’s smiling so wide right now; he just can’t seem to help the way the muscles in his face seem destined to react involuntarily to so many things Harry-related. “Right. Well, thanks for your help, mate.”

 

“Have a good night, Louis,” Brian says and shuts the door with a rather knowing grin on his face.

 

Louis’ first instinct is to go to the roof as fast as humanly possible. But he pauses and returns to his own room for a quick change into swimming trunks. He throws a t-shirt on, sticks his feet bare into slip-on Vans and grabs a towel from the bathroom.

 

When he makes it to the roof, it’s empty save for the dull swish of water. There’s a figure swimming laps, and even though he’s all the way on the other end of the pool, Louis knows it’s Harry.

 

Louis toes off his shoes at the lounge chair next to where Harry’s stuff is laying. He briefly considers leaving his shirt on, but it’s surprisingly balmy, even for October. Probably because they’re in Atlanta, where it probably never gets cold—thus, the outdoor swimming pool, Louis thinks, and strips it off.

 

He drops down at the edge of the pool and lets his legs dangle into the water.

 

The lights are dimmed, probably because it’s late, so Harry’s nearly on top of Louis when he glances up in surprise and sees him.

 

Harry rises up and gives Louis a bright smile, pushing back his dripping wet hair. Louis tries to ignore Harry’s wet, naked chest. He fails pretty much utterly.

 

“You’re a mermaid,” Louis says.

 

“You’re here,” Harry says, his smile morphing into a lopsided grin.

 

“I’m here,” Louis confirms. “Couldn’t find you, so I found Brian instead. He said you were here.”

 

“You were looking for me?” The hope on Harry’s face is impossible to miss. As if it’s only been him seeking out Louis, even though that’s not true at all. But then maybe Louis has gone a bit out of his way to not make it so obvious. This is probably the most blatant he’s ever been.

 

“Wanted to see you,” Louis admits. He flushes and pretends to be absorbed by the flickering lights embedded in the walls and floor of the pool, lending it its otherworldly blue glow. “Always want to see you,” he practically whispers.

 

But it’s so quiet—silent, really—so there’s no way Harry could miss what Louis is saying.

 

He doesn’t. And Louis isn’t even certain he wanted him to.

 

Harry drifts closer, floating along the surface of the water, and Louis is struck by the memory of their first kiss, of Harry luring him into the pool at the bungalow.

 

The air suddenly feels downright steamy and thick, almost muggy.

 

Maybe this shouldn’t be about sex right now, but it’s right there between them, a subject that’s almost impossible to avoid.

 

“You should get in, the water’s nice,” Harry says, and he’s definitely got that seductive gleam in his eye. Louis just has to decide if he wants to make another attempt or if he just wants to enjoy Harry’s company.

 

What the hell, he decides. It’s a little too perfect to avoid. Maybe they can even make out a little. His cock perks up a bit at that thought, though he tries to remind it that there will probably be no action except for his own hand when he gets back to his room later.

 

He slips in, bracing for the worst because Harry can be a little shit, but is pleasantly surprised. The water feels wonderful. “You’re a genius,” Louis says as he surfaces, shaking the excess water from his hair. He’s definitely pleased at how Harry looks a bit shellshocked too when faced with a mostly naked, wet Louis.

 

He’s been spending a bit more time with Liam in the gym, mostly because nobody likes a sulky Liam and Liam’s been plenty sulky lately. Not that Louis blames him. In his opinion, Liam’s got lots to be sulky about. Of course, Liam can’t work off a proper sulk like any normal lad, with beer and crisps and action movies. No, he has to go to the gym. Louis has been moaning about this fact for _weeks_ , but suddenly he is seeing the benefits of the arrangements.

 

It turns out its very rewarding to have Harry’s eyes catch on his biceps and his pecs and rove hungrily over his collarbones.

 

“You look good, Lou,” Harry says, as if Louis just hasn’t caught him looking. If Harry was even trying to be subtle to begin with. Louis thinks he probably wasn’t.

 

Louis strikes the cheesiest seductive pose he can and murmurs, “then what are you still doing over there.”

 

It only takes a moment for Harry to move, and despite his general difficulty on dry land, he’s quite graceful in the water, and they’re crashing together, wet skin sliding against wet skin and Louis finds himself pressed quite insistently against the wall as Harry’s lips find his own.

 

_This is new_ , Louis has only a moment to register—Harry’s basically _let_ Louis kiss him plenty of times since New York—but he’s never actively sought it out before. He’s never _kissed_ Louis. He’s always let Louis make the first move.

 

Not this time. This time, it’s Harry clinging to Louis, winding his limbs insistently around Louis, _kissing_ Louis slow and thorough, his tongue dipping into Louis’ mouth, his fingers gripping Louis’ hair, tilting him until he gets precisely the right angle.

 

Even before Detroit, Louis was almost always in control, and that was okay. It worked for them then. But they’re a bit more on equal footing now, Harry grown up and independent, and no longer looking to Louis for everything. And it feels really good for Louis to just let go and trust that Harry’s going to take care of him.

 

Louis isn’t sure it’s something that will happen often, but right now, he can’t help but find it insanely hot to be wanted this much—as if every single one of Harry’s yearning, heartsick glances have been translated into lips and teeth and tongue.

 

He can feel Harry’s dick against his skin and he’s definitely hard but even though Harry definitely feels lost in the kiss, he’s making no effort to even rub against Louis.

 

And it’s just not fair because Harry’s mouth is so warm and wet and Louis’ own dick is practically throbbing in his swim trunks, desperate to remember what that mouth might feel like again. So even though he definitely doesn’t want to stop kissing, doesn’t want to frighten Harry away with sex, Louis takes a chance and experimentally thrusts forward, his own dick catching on the waist of Harry’s trunks.

 

Harry gasps into Louis’ mouth, and he freezes for a second, and Louis wonders if this is when it all ends. This is when it’s ended before. The blood is thrumming hard in his veins, he’s panting into Harry’s mouth, practically breathless with lust. He can’t help but feel eighteen again and horribly, awfully desperate. Basically how Harry used to make him feel _all the damn time_ when they werein the X-Factor house.

 

Harry opens his mouth and closes it again, and Louis wants to scream in frustration. He just knows Harry’s going to say they need to stop and of course, remind him yet again that nothing is going to happen until Louis is prepared to forgive Harry.

 

But what he really says is not what Louis was expecting to hear. “We shouldn’t do this here,” Harry murmurs against Louis’ lips. “I’m sure there’s cameras.”

 

Louis gapes at him. “You’re not going to stop us?” he gasps out before he can really stop himself. He shouldn’t be drawing attention to the fact that he always has before, and that he probably _should_. That deep down that’s probably what he really wants, and this is just a weak moment.

 

Louis has been waiting for a crack in Harry’s armor for weeks now, and he should be jumping all over this, kissing Harry more, letting his hands drift down Harry’s long, lean torso, until he can tuck them right into Harry’s shorts. He shouldn’t let Harry even think right now, should get him so carried away that he never has a moment to reconsider.

 

Louis has always considered himself a fairly greedy soul. He wants what he wants, okay? But he’s always been greedy for those he loves too. And he loves Harry. He wants to give him what he wants.

 

Cursing himself inwardly, Louis reaches up and untangles Harry’s fingers from his neck and gives him a gentle little push, letting Harry float a few inches away from Louis’ body.

 

He instantly misses the way Harry feels against him. He wants to regret it but the look dawning in Harry’s eyes is something precious and amazing.

 

“You don’t. . .you don’t want to?” Harry asks, and normally this phrase would be accompanied by a sad little pout and a whole bunch of hurt disappointment. But Harry looks quixotically pleased. Louis doesn’t quite understand.

 

“You said you didn’t want to. . .not until. . .you know.” Louis can’t even bring himself to even say the word. How can he possibly consider forgiving Harry if he can’t even say it out loud?

 

Harry’s smile grows even bigger. “You’ve been trying to seduce me for weeks. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

 

Louis can’t quite meet Harry’s eyes. “You told me what you wanted. It would be . . .rude to ignore that.”

 

Harry giggles. “Lou, you’re rude all the time.”

 

“Yes, well,” Louis says, going for breezy, but he knows he ends up sounding far too serious, “not to you.”

 

When Harry throws his arms around Louis and hugs him tight and close, Louis realizes that this is the first time he’s really made it clear that he’s here to fix this. That he, just the same as Harry, is willing to play a long game.

 

“Thank you,” Harry murmurs into the damp hair covering Louis’ temple. “Thank you.”

 

Louis’ grip on him tightens a little. “I’d like you to remember this insane moment of self-sacrifice when I’m being a total prat.”

 

Harry’s laugh is a little watery. “I will. I promise.” He hesitates. “Will you promise me something too?”  


Louis just turned down what surely would have been an extremely hot, extremely necessary sexual encounter with Harry. He’s pretty sure he’d promise just about anything right now. “What is it?”

 

“Tonight,” Harry’s voice has dropped low and it’s now this sexy little growl that has Louis’ blood heating up all over again, “tonight, when you get off, I want you to think about me. I want you think about my hands and my lips on your body, on your chest, all over your arms, your collarbones, your tattoos.” Harry’s voice is hypnotic, and as he names each part of Louis, his fingers drift down and lightly graze his skin reverently. “I want you to think of my mouth on your cock, tongue rubbing the underside, just how you like it, I want you to think about fucking my mouth, my throat. I want you to come screaming my name.”

 

Louis shudders, and his mouth is bone dry as he pants into Harry’s shoulder. He wants to grip Harry and drag him out this pool and back to the room, fuck no matter how much he thinks it’s a bad idea. He doesn’t want it to be his hands, he wants the hands to be Harry’s. His own just don’t compare.

 

“Promise me, Louis.” Harry’s voice is rough and insistent. Demanding even. Louis wants to promise anything, if only Harry will touch his cock and make him come.

 

“I promise,” he says and his own voice sounds wild, unhinged. With just a few words, Harry has dismantled him and put him back together with himself embedded in every molecule. Louis breathes and he feels Harry.

 

“Good.” Harry sounds way too self-satisfied as he finally lets go of Louis and drifts a few feet away in the water, as if he hasn’t just demolished Louis.

 

Louis wants to resent it, but he can’t. He also wants to be pissed as hell, but if there’s one thing he’s just discovered, it’s that the doesn’t have the heart to be mad. He loves Harry too much to be mad.

 

It’s new, this ability to be able to admit it to himself this easily. And Louis hopes that at least it’s the first step to forgiving Harry, because if he has to wait any longer, he’s definitely going to lose his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](http://bethaboolou.tumblr.com/)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaand we're back!
> 
> First and foremost, I want to give everyone a big virtual hug. It's been a hell of a week. Devastating and emotional for us all I think. Strangely though, I feel like 1D is a phoenix. They're going to rise better from this. And Zayn, too. This isn't the end, by a long shot.
> 
> And it's not an end for me either. This is the second to last chapter of burn to ash, then there will be an epilogue. And I will definitely, absolutely be writing more fic. I already have a really great idea for another long story. And if you missed any of my one-shots from the Winter Exchange, here they are: [somewhere only we know](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2763668/chapters/6197426) and [I Put a Spell on You](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3357647).
> 
> song for this chapter: "hourglass" by catfish and the bottlemen

Everything hits the fan a month before the tour ends.

 

The tentative plan is to take a few weeks break after the end of the tour and then to reconvene in London to start—or Louis supposes to _finish_ —recording the album.

 

While Louis knows it’s a mistake to rush things with Harry, he can’t help but feel time ticking away a little bit, getting away from him, every day and every show closer to the end reminding him that there’s a very finite limit on the time where they’ll be practically in each other’s pockets.

 

He knows even when they’re not touring, there’s no reason why they can’t hang out together, but when they’re on tour, it’s practically a necessity. Back home, they’ll have to make plans for it to happen. And plans seem so . . . official.

 

Every day when Louis wakes up to a new city, he tells himself that today is the day he’s going to sit down with Harry and they’re going to hash this out. They’re going to figure out what’s going on between them and what they _want_ to happen. Louis is going to have to figure out how to forgive Harry. Nevermind what forgiving Harry might feel like.

 

Every day he puts it off because well . . . Louis isn’t exactly sure. Probably because he’s a chicken shit.

 

But there’s just about four weeks left when he’s sitting in his hotel room on their night off, contemplating the TV and the room service menu and also contemplating calling up Harry and asking him what he’s doing. They could share a meal pretty platonically right?

 

Louis thinks they probably could. It’s not out of the realm of possibility.

 

But before he can move towards his phone and turn the vague idea in his head into something concrete, there’s a loud, insistent knock on the door.

 

He jerks it open and Liam is standing there, and instantly he knows something is wrong.

 

“What happened?” Louis demands before Liam can even get a word out. For half a second, it’s five years ago again and Harry’s missing and they need to find him before he runs off or drinks too much or does something else stupid.

 

But Liam’s face isn’t that serious. He’s clearly concerned but it’s not bad enough for Louis to worry that something truly awful has happened.

 

Like maybe Harry relapsing.

 

Liam collapses on the bed. “The divorce leaked.”

 

“Oh.” Louis doesn’t really know what to say. Like, he loves Liam, he really does. He wants to help. But navigating that whole disastrous mess that’s Liam-Sophia-Zayn-Perrie these days is something he can’t handle. He feels like he’d just say the wrong thing anyway.

 

“Yeah it’s gonna be in the papers tomorrow,” Liam says glumly.

 

“Well, it can’t be so bad, yeah?”

 

“Except everyone will know just how much of a fuck up I am.” Liam, who has the least reason in the world to be down on himself, has never managed to get past that sixteen year old kid who was bullied. Louis has always wanted to track those kids down and beat some sense into them. But really, what’s done is done. Hurting them now doesn’t fix how Liam is, or how poorly he thinks of himself sometimes.

 

It just sucks because Liam is the glue that holds them together, that has _always_ held them together. He’s the kindest, nicest, most loyal person that Louis has ever met. He deserves more than anyone to be happy, but of course, that doesn’t seem to be in the cards for him.

 

“It’s not your fault that you and Sophia didn’t work out.” Louis knows it’s really a mistake to even go down this path. But he’s really not in the mood for another workout. He still feels vaguely sore from the last one. So he can’t exactly suggest bicep curls or some cardio to distract Liam from everything that’s gone wrong with his life.

 

“Yes it is,” Liam insists sadly and Louis wonders if he was ever this annoying after Harry left.

 

Okay, there is no _if_ about it. He was almost certainly more annoying.

 

“I could have said something so many times,” Liam continues and Louis wonders if it would be okay to suggest getting drunk. They’ve barely drank this tour, and he’s not sure if this is because of Harry or because they’ve all kind of grown up, but it’s been surprisingly nice.

 

But this? This? If anything called for copious amounts of booze, it’s the teary note in Liam’s voice.

 

Louis also wants to call Harry. He’s always been better at listening to people’s problems and offering excellent, thoughtful advice. Excellent, thoughtful advice has never been Louis’ forte, which really begs the question, _why_ is Liam here? Yeah, they’ve been working out together to distract Liam from the shit storm that’s his personal life, but they’ve never really discussed it in depth. He figured Liam was doing that with someone else—probably Harry, if Louis had ever put any real thought into who it could be. But now Liam is here and Louis has a sudden terrifying thought that Liam’s been discussing this with _no one_.

 

 

He is just about to ask that difficult question when Liam rolls over and digs in his pocket for something. He pulls it out and holds it up to the light. “Wanna smoke?” he asks as Louis’ jaw drops a little.

 

“Um, oh, yeah, sure I guess.” Louis doesn’t really know what to say. He’s usually down to smoke up but Liam was never a huge fan so he’s a little taken aback to see that Liam is now supplying himself with weed.

 

Louis digs out a lighter and they sit on the floor, passing the joint back and forth, the only noise their deep, steady breaths. Louis finds himself growing more relaxed, more pliant and in the quiet he can’t help but think about Harry and all the things _they’re_ not talking about. He knows he needs to do it. Maybe he just needs to put on his big boy pants and get it done.

 

He’s actually composing his opening speech when Liam breaks the silence. “Did you know Zayn and Perrie have an open marriage?” he asks.

 

Louis drops the joint and has a momentary mental flash of accidentally setting the room on fire. But he grabs it up quickly, his gaze shifting in shock to Liam’s face. “He and Perrie have _what_?” Louis exclaims.

 

“An open marriage,” Liam mumbles, his eyes half closed as he lays back against the bed. Louis has discovered that Liam _doesn’t_ typically smoke because it’s clearly affecting him pretty strongly.

 

“Um, how did I not know about this?” Louis asks testily because this is a pretty big secret for Zayn not to have confided. They’re definitely not as close as they once were, but this, _this_ , seems like the kind of thing that Zayn might have told him.

 

“Don’t be mad,” Liam slurs a little, “but nobody likes telling you anything about their love life.”

 

Louis thinks he is definitely at least a _little_ mad. “Let me guess, I’m way too sad and depressing.”

 

“Pretty much,” Liam confirms and Louis frowns.

 

“ _Still_ ,” Louis insists, “this is huge. What the hell? I thought they were happy.”

 

“They don’t really want to split cause of the baby so yeah, I don’t know. He told me about a month ago. _He said he thought I should know_.” Liam sounds pretty bitter about this and Louis isn’t sure he blames him.

 

“I thought they were happy?” Louis repeats again because he feels like everything he thought he knew is a complete lie and he’s really not pleased about it. All his friends have apparently been struggling with their relationships but they’ve never bothered to come to him because he was too fucking sad to handle it. Louis resolves to deal with Harry _tonight_ because he isn’t going to be held responsible for any more marriages falling apart.

 

“Yeah, well everyone thought you and Harry were soulmates,” Liam retorts. “Look how that turned out.”

 

Louis tries not to be upset or offended. Liam is sad and despondent and high as fuck.

 

“Right, well, nothing is what we thought it was,” Louis says carefully.

 

“What am I supposed to do?” Liam asks pitifully.

 

Louis isn’t about to touch this with a ten foot pole. Plus, he’s still trying not to be pissed about the soulmates thing, so he says gently, “I think you need to talk to Zayn, Liam. He’s the one you should be talking to.”

 

Liam rolls his eyes. “You going to take your own advice anytime soon?”

 

“Maybe,” Louis tries very hard not to retort. “I’ve been thinking about it.”

 

“You really should,” Liam says sadly, all the fight going out of him like he’s been sucker punched. Which, Louis thinks, maybe isn’t that far from the truth. “You need each other.”

 

At one time, not very long ago, Louis would have argued against this reasoning tooth and nail. Tonight, he just accepts it quietly and considers it.

 

Liam is probably not wrong.

 

“I was actually just thinking about asking him to have dinner with me,” Louis admits, “when you came by.”

 

“You should!” Liam looks more excited about this possibility than anything else they’ve talked about since he arrived thirty minutes ago. Louis wonders if that’s really healthy. But then they’ve always been obnoxiously co-dependent. Maybe it’s too late to fix that.

 

“Okay,” Louis says a bit hesitantly, even though he’d already told himself he’d do it tonight. Tonight, before he chickened out again. “But only if you go find Zayn.”

 

“What if we . . . what if we . . .” Liam stutters, but Louis is pretty sure what he means to say.

 

He’s worried about that too. In the last few weeks, he and Harry have had several very close calls. It’s almost inevitable at this point that one of them will break down and there will be sex.

 

Louis is almost happy about it.

 

They really should talk first. But _sex_. With _Harry_. It’s a mesmerizing concept, really.

 

“Then it happens. You’re practically divorced, and if Zayn and Perrie truly have an open marriage . . .” Louis trails off because he doesn’t want to give Liam permission per se, but he kind of does all the same. Things could still turn out badly though for Liam and that’s the very last thing Louis wants. “Just make sure you’re certain,” Louis adds belatedly.

 

“Have you and Harry?” Liam asks, which is unusual not because he didn’t usually know what was going on but because he’s actually asking, not being told. Louis is perfectly aware that in a former life, he and Harry were absolute shits about personal space and distance. It didn’t really help either that Harry when properly motivated could be a pretty kinky exhibitionist sex monster. Not helping was how much Louis loved to properly motivate him.

 

Louis shakes his head, for once not oversharing the details of their sex life. “Not yet,” he adds. “Harry doesn’t want to until . . . well, until we’re sure.”

 

Liam nods sagely, as if this is excellent advice that he’s considered from all angles, even though he’s kind of fucked up right now. Louis wonders briefly at how good of an idea it is to send Liam off to Zayn in his current state.

 

But he decides that Liam might actually be more open and receptive and definitely more honest like this, so he pushes Liam out the door with a text to Zayn about how Liam is on his way over. He then flips on the shower, shedding his t-shirt and joggers in the bathroom. Right before he climbs under the hot water, he texts Harry and suggests they have dinner in his room. Harry texts back right away with an enthusiastic affirmative.

 

By the time he’s done with his shower, Louis feels loose and relaxed. He carefully styles his hair and picks out his tightest jeans and a shirt that shows off just the tiniest amount of his collarbones. It’s a little slutty but not horribly obvious.

 

_What_ , they’re supposed to be only talking, but if Louis can distract Harry a bit, he’s definitely going to do it.

 

It’s been over an hour since he and Liam lit up when Louis arrives at Harry’s door. He knocks and Harry opens it quickly. He looks Louis up and down and laughs. “Get in here,” he gets out between giggles and Louis doesn’t know whether he should be offended or not.

 

“You’re high,” Harry finally says, a smile glimmering on his lips, “you had to get high for us to actually talk.”

 

Louis was a little worried that Harry might be able to tell. He always could before, but it has been a long time. The good news is that he doesn’t seem mad, merely amused. “For the record, it was actually Liam,” Louis says, and then he continues, voice softening. “Is that okay? Like I don’t want you to think . . .”

 

Harry rolls his eyes. “I gave Liam the number of a guy I used to know. I assumed he’d go to you, anyway.”

 

Oh. _Oh_. “Not for me,” Harry adds. “Obviously.”

 

“Right.” Louis feels his high dribbling away and suddenly he’s a lot more nervous and wired than he was just a few minutes before. “Should we order dinner?”

 

They consult the menu and Harry calls down the order. They sit on the couch, with Louis leaving a good foot between them. He’s tempted, as he always is, to close the distance and press his lips to Harry’s. That’s why keeping the distance is so important. He’s waited too long to do this anyway; he’s not going to fuck it up by distracting them.

 

“Have you been talking to Liam then?” Louis finally asks, because he’s not sure where else he should start. There’s a million questions he wants to ask and yet he can’t quite make himself ask any of them.

 

Harry shrugs. “You had the gym part covered so . . .”

 

“Thanks for that,” Louis retorts. “I’ve been just about killing myself too.”

 

The honest, frank appraisal that Harry gives Louis, up his body and then down again, sets his blood simmering. “Well, _I’ve_ been appreciating it,” Harry points out impudently.

 

“Harry!” Louis moans, taking even himself back. “You are not helping me stay focused on just talking, here.”

 

Harry shoots Louis a confused look. “Who says we’re only supposed to be talking?”

 

“We’re supposed to be talking! I’m supposed to be talking!” Louis doesn’t know when he starts to get hysterical but he feels like he’s bordering on it. He’s desperately longing for the relaxed high of only an hour ago. Where the hell did Liam get that weed? It’s not exactly first rate, as far as Louis is concerned.

 

Harry still looks confused. “Um, we _have_ been talking?”

 

“What do you mean? I’ve been avoiding it!” Louis didn’t really mean to admit that last part out loud, but it’s the truth of it anyway—he kinda _has_ been avoiding it.

 

Harry laughs. Throws his head back and just cackles, like Louis is the funniest person in the entire world. “Lou,” he breaths out between giggles, “we talk _all the time_.”

 

“About important things!”

 

Harry doesn’t really stop laughing. “We’ve talked about my alcoholism. What you did when you got back to England. How all my things ended up in the storage locker. What I did to come clean. About my immersion therapy and my overdose. We’ve talked about how much I hurt you and how much I regret it. We’ve talked about you forgiving me. I’m not sure what you think we _need_ to talk about.”

 

Louis is a bit taken aback by this list. They _have_ talked about all those topics, more than once, even.

 

“You mean, we don’t really need to talk?” He can’t help how hopeful he feels.

 

“Is there something you want to talk about?”

 

Louis doesn’t need to consider this for any time at all. “No.”

 

“And if there was something you wanted to know, you’d ask me right?” Harry gently prods and Louis can’t help but nod. He really thinks he would, if there was something pressing. He’s not sure if it was something important that he would be able to help himself.

 

The point in time so many months ago where just being in the room with Harry was almost too much is long gone. Now, when something goes wrong or he feels stressed or he worries about Harry, Harry is literally the first person he wants to talk to.

 

“I feel the same,” Harry admits. “So I guess I don’t see why we need to sit down and like exclusively talk. When something comes up, we’ll deal with it. Like we have been.”

 

Louis takes a moment to process this, and then realizes he _does_ have something he wants to say. He sees Liam and Zayn, frozen in silence and probably in misery too, stuck in situations that don’t lead to anything but unhappiness, and _fuck_ , he doesn’t want that to be him and Harry in five more years. Not when they’ve already wasted so long. Louis feels like he’s suddenly at a crossroads and he doesn’t want to pick anything else but love. And Harry.

 

But then, love and Harry have always been pretty synonymous in Louis’ book.

 

“What do you . . .” he can’t quite get the words out, and he has to stop, clear his throat and keep going, forcing them out, “what do you want? I know you said a few months ago that you didn’t want to get back together. Is that still what you want?” Because if he does, then Louis needs to take a step back right the fuck now because he already feels like he’s incredibly emotionally invested in making this reunion happen.

 

Fuck, he’s never _not_ been emotionally invested in Harry Styles. Maybe that’s the problem right there. His complete inability to not be rocked to the core by who Harry is and what he means to him.

 

He waits with baited breath as Harry looks down at his knees, fiddling with his fingers. Louis is almost afraid the delay is bad news, but he’s seen the way Harry still looks at him. There’s no way he would genuinely want to stay apart. Love still has to count for something, right?

 

Then Harry glances up at him and the love shining in his green eyes blows Louis away. “I know I said before that I wasn’t ready, but that was so long ago. I’ve never stopped loving you,” Harry murmurs. “Whatever you want, that’s what I want. Today, tomorrow, in the next fifty years.”

 

Louis decides this is a really good moment to break his one foot rule and he crowds into Harry, thinking that there is no power on earth that would stop him from kissing the crap out of him right now. But right before he does, he rethinks. This could be even better, he realizes, and swings a leg over him, settling neatly into his lap like he did about a hundred thousand times before everything went to hell.

 

The way Harry’s looking up at him now is so much the same as he used to, it takes his breath away. He leans down and kisses him, brushing their mouths together agonizingly slowly, losing his train of thought with how pillowy soft Harry’s lips are and how much he wants to stay right here in this position and never leave. Harry reaches up and wraps his arms around Louis’ hips, steadying him, pulling him down lower, until Louis can definitely feel his hardening cock against his own.

 

“Wait, wait,” Louis says with a gasp, pulling back. He feels so keyed up there’s no way he’ll be able to stop if they get started. Harry did specifically say, more than once, that he wants Louis’ forgiveness before they have sex and while they’ve definitely done more talking than he realized they had, he still doesn’t feel prepared to offer that yet.

 

“What?” Harry asks breathlessly. He’s flushed, his eyes sparkling, his lips the most beautiful shade of pink. He’s the most beautiful, hopelessly endearing, irresistible person that Louis has ever known.

 

“I don’t want to push you into anything,” Louis says in a rush before he can change his mind, shut his mouth, and take what he wants so badly.

 

Harry’s brilliant smile wavers a little. “So you . . . you don’t forgive me then?”

 

Louis doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t _think_ he does. But then he thought they needed to talk to, so maybe he’s just shit at knowing what he really thinks or feels. That wouldn’t be a surprise at all—not after he’s spent approximately five years burying every emotion so deep he couldn’t ever feel it.

 

“But, how can you be with me if you don’t forgive me?” Harry continues, a crease forming between his brows. “Why would you even want to?”

 

It’s an excellent question, but Louis doesn’t really have an answer. It _doesn’t_ make sense.

 

“I don’t know,” he confesses.

 

“I don’t want to push you,” Harry admits as he looks straight in the eye. “But I’ve got to protect myself too, Lou. I don’t want to get my hopes up that we could be something again, only for you to realize down the road that you can’t ever really move past this.”

 

Louis can’t help but squirm in Harry’s lap and wonder why the hell he’s still half hard when they’re having this awkward as fuck conversation. “That’s not going to happen,” he says, because he might as well be 100% totally honest.

 

Harry doesn’t look very convinced. Louis squirms some more. He wonders if it would be okay for his dick to do his talking for him.

 

It wouldn’t, though, and he knows it. Harry deserves more. He deserves _better_ , no matter what he’s done to Louis.

 

“This is what I mean,” Louis finally admits. “I need to tell you things.”

 

Harry settles back on the couch. “Okay,” he says. “Tell me things.”

 

Louis doesn’t even know where to begin. So he starts at the most logical place, the one thought he’s had since the very first moment he knew Harry was gone.

 

“When you left,” he says, “I wanted to die.”

 

Harry’s expression goes horribly solemn and he swallows hard, but he still nods, prompting Louis to continue. Louis suddenly isn’t sure this is going to be harder for him or harder for Harry.

 

“It was always me and you. I didn’t know how to do it alone. I _couldn’t_ do it alone. Like, maybe we could have continued the tour. I don’t know. I’ve wondered if the others would have been able to. But I couldn’t. So we had to cancel it. And a part of me hated you for that. You had to know I couldn’t do it by myself.”

 

He pauses. “And god damn it, that wasn’t healthy, Harry. For either of us. Like when you left, and I went back home, I realized that my whole life was you. I’d built my life around you, you were in every single bit, and when you weren’t there, I didn’t think I had _anything_.”

 

Harry reaches out and rests a hand reassuring on Louis’ arm. “I felt the same way, actually. Like, it made the drinking so much worse, at first.”

 

Louis drops his head to Harry’s shoulder. Some of this is too hard to say while he’s looking at Harry. “It took a long time, but I built myself a life. The problem was I hated it and it was never going to be what I wanted it to be because you weren’t in it.”

 

“You could have found someone else,” Harry suggest hesitantly. “Did you even try?”

 

Louis shakes his head emphatically, clinging even harder to Harry. “What we had . . .” his voice breaks a little and Harry’s fingertips dig into his skin, “what we _have_ , it’s not normal, Haz. What we have, it’s special. It’s one of a kind. It’s the kind of love you feel your whole life. It’s the kind of love that told me you weren’t dead, even when I worried you might be.”

 

Harry is silent when Louis stops talking.

 

“That’s why,” Louis timidly adds, “that’s why I know that I’ll forgive you eventually. Maybe I already have, and I don’t know it. All I know is I love you. I loved you the moment I saw you, I think. Even when I hated you. Even when you scared me. Even when I couldn’t stand to see your face. I loved you.”

 

There are tears now. Louis can feel them damp and real against the soft, warm skin of Harry’s neck where his face is buried. He knows Harry can feel them too.

 

“I just . . .” Louis’ voice cracks. “I just can’t take it if you do it again.”

 

“I won’t,” Harry vows instantly, his voice fervent and committed. “I _couldn’t_.”

 

“If you do, take me with you. Please,” Louis mumbles into Harry’s skin.

 

Harry chuckles a little wetly. Louis can’t see it, but he’s probably crying to. “How about I won’t go anywhere you can’t follow?”

 

“Perfect.”

 

They’re quiet for a few minutes, holding each other. Louis thinks he would be content to stay here forever, comforted and safe, even though he’s getting a stiff neck and he’ll never be able to wee again.

 

“Forgiveness is a big thing,” Harry finally admits, very quietly, very seriously. “I know I fucked up. If you ever forgive me, I’d be happy.”

 

“The moment I do, you’ll know,” Louis vows. He hesitates. He wants to know if any of this has changed anything. He knows how Harry feels about the uncertainty of heading into something committed without his forgiveness, but Louis is unsure when it would happen. They’ve already waited five years to be together; he doesn’t want to wait one more minute.

 

And it’s not just about the sex, though that would definitely be nice. It’s the idea that he’s free to incorporate Harry back into his life. That they can have dinner and go on dates and hold hands again. That he can kiss Harry whenever he feels like, not only when he’s too overwhelmed by Harry’s general Harry-ness to resist.

 

He wants to spoon Harry the way they used to. He wants to fall asleep to his deep, steady breathing and wake up to his beautiful face every morning.

 

“I want to be with you,” he says softly.

 

Harry’s hands detach from his hips and then they’re on his face, cupping his cheeks like he’s something infinitely precious. Harry gently lifts his head from the curve of his neck that Louis has been hiding himself.

 

When Louis opens his eyes he’s looking straight into Harry’s equally damp ones. “I want to be with you too,” Harry says shakily, and it feels a bit like a promise but more. Like vows. Like a lifetime commitment. Like the ink that’s already permanently etched into their skin.

 

Louis leans forward and kisses Harry because this time he truly is out of words. They’ve finally talked, said everything that needed saying and now there’s only this. The kiss is one of the best they’ve ever had, even though it’s salty and wet and they’re both laughing shakily into each other’s mouths with relief and joy and a thousand other overwhelming emotions.

 

When they finally pull away from each other, the smile on Harry’s face is brighter than the sun and it feels like the dawn of the rest of their lives.

 

He felt sure of Harry before. But right now, he can’t help but feel _more_ sure. After all, they’ve been through the worst that any couple could possible endure and they’ve _endured_. They’re still here. They’re still in love. It feels like a miracle.

 

Louis wants to text Liam and tell him that, _Harry and I are still soulmates, thank you very much._

A minute later and another kiss later, there’s a knock on the door.

 

“Dinner,” Harry says and Louis groans, reluctant to move from what isn’t a very comfortable position physically, but is the greatest position in the world when it comes to his resurrected heart.

 

“Sorry, love,” Harry says with a lopsided, sweet smile and deposits him gently on the couch.

 

They eat together like they’ve never stopped. It’s like the last little bit of awkwardness is gone, and with it the intervening five years. Harry is back to picking food off his plate and Louis is back to letting him. He’s never going to deny Harry what he wants. After all, Harry’s his _boy_.

 

Just the thought fills Louis with an unbearable lightness. He wants to scream it from the rooftops. They’re never going to make it through a show without being positively disgusting. He can already picture Niall and Zayn and Liam’s grimaces. Louis can’t wait.

 

 “I’m excited for our show tomorrow,” Louis says, because his brain to mouth filter is pretty much completely gone now when it comes to Harry—much like it used to be.

 

“Why?” Harry asks, as he leans back on the couch, his plate finally clean. It makes sense. Louis can’t even remember where they’re at geographically, but it’s not like it’s an important show in the overall scheme of things. It’s only important now because they’ve finally worked out their shit and their general adoration for each other is going to explode all over the stage in a shower of rainbow glitter.

 

“Just can’t wait to do a show with you. When we’re together and we’re not hiding anymore,” Louis admits a little shyly. “Wanted that for a long time.”

 

Harry’s gaze back is equally as fond. Or at least Louis thinks it must be. They really are the most awful saps for each other. “Me too.”

 

“It’s gonna be awesome.”

 

Harry giggles. “People are gonna think we’re back together, Lou.” He sounds like he loves the thought of this. Louis can’t blame him; he loves it too. He kind of wants to tape a sign to Harry’s back: “property of Louis Tomlinson, _again_.”

 

“People already think that,” Louis points out.

 

“What else are you looking forward to?” Harry asks as Louis cuddles up under his arm so Louis can’t see his face but he has a feeling there’s a knowing smirk on it.

 

“Hmmm, I wonder,” Louis retorts sarcastically. “I’m not sure I can think of anything.”

 

“I can,” Harry says and suddenly Louis is airborne in Harry’s arms, and then he’s on the bed. Harry’s crawling up his body like he’s a wild animal and Louis is his favorite prey.

 

Louis very much likes the way this is going. If Louis’ cock could breathe, it would definitely be breathing out a sigh of relief that the two of them finally figured their shit out and it can have sex with something else than Louis’ right hand.

 

“Sometimes,” Harry says as he nibbles down Louis’ neck, his teeth descending just deep enough to leave a mark, “sometimes I’d lay awake at night and picture what I’d do to you if I could have you one last time.”

 

It’s not really funny but Louis laughs anyway. He can’t help it. He feels so light and free, he might float away if it wasn’t for Harry on top of him, holding him solidly on the bed. “That’s awfully morbid, Harold, even for you.”

 

Harry lets his teeth sink in a bit further and Louis yelps. It hurts but it’s a good kind of hurt. A hurt that reminds him Harry’s here and they’re actually doing this. Oh, who is he kidding? It also definitely turns him on. So it seems that’s still a thing.

 

“As I was saying,” Harry says in a faux-stern voice, “I used to picture what I’d do if I could make love you to again.”

 

Louis is definitely interested in this train of thought. “And?”

 

“I’d think about your collarbones,” Harry says thoughtfully, and he shifts lower, his mouth cruising over the sensitive skin of Louis’ throat, down towards his collarbones. His tongue slicks over them. “Don’t think I didn’t notice what you wore tonight. You know how I get when I see them.”

 

“You get wild,” Louis half-says, half-moans because the way Harry’s touching him is the way he’s dreamed about for five long years and he feels so overwhelmed by it.

 

“I get wild,” Harry confirms. “Did you want me to get wild?”

 

Harry’s tongue is tracing the lettering of his tattoo now, teeth dipping into the inked skin, leaving it flushed and even darker, mouthing at it until it practically feels branded into his skin, into his heart. “I was kind of hoping to distract you, actually,” Louis pants a little.

 

“Well, it worked,” Harry retorts cheekily.

 

“Feels that way.”

 

“Oh, I’m just getting started,” Harry says. “I didn’t just think about your collarbones.”

 

“Good, cause that would be weird.”

 

“So mouthy,” Harry says and Louis blinks his eyes open slowly and takes in Harry’s absolutely filthy grin.

 

“Then shut me up, Styles,” Louis smirks. “What else did you dream about?”

 

Harry gently pulls up his shirt, pulling it over his head. “This too,” he says reverently, dipping his head down to Louis’ skin, his tongue tracing one swirl after another over his abs and tummy. “Soft, golden, delicious. Like caramel,” he breathes out in awe and Louis trembles a little. He’s never understood exactly how Harry can find him so beautiful, but right now, he _feels_ it and for the very first time, he truly believes it.

 

Harry’s fingers drift up his torso and ghost across his nipples. Louis’ back bows like he’s just been shot and he has to stifle a deep groan of pleasure. “Couldn’t forget these, either,” Harry says against his skin like it’s some kind of secret how much Louis loves his nipples played with. And then the heat of his mouth is on them and Louis feels like he’s losing his mind, his cock rock hard and wet against his thigh. He might come the moment Harry actually touches him.

 

“God, _fuck_ ,” Louis writhes against the bed and against Harry’s clever tongue. “Touch me, _please_.”

 

Harry lifts his lips from Louis’ skin and then he’s kissing him, deep and wet and perfect. Louis feels mindless and drugged from how much pleasure he’s already gotten and they’ve only just started.

 

“Not yet,” Harry is breathless when he pulls back, eyes brilliant in his pale face. “Want a little more.”

 

He slides down Louis’ torso, worshipping his skin with his teeth and his tongue, fingers stroking his sides reverently until he’s nosing along Louis’ lower abs, right along the waistband of his pants. Louis buries his face in the curve of his arm. “ _Please_ ,” he begs, because he’s definitely not above begging now.

 

It’s not even really teasing. It feels more like Harry’s slowly and thoroughly re-acquainting himself with every inch of Louis’ skin, worshipping every freckle, every curve, every line of ink that he permanently etched into his skin for Harry. Louis feels love drunk.

 

Harry smiles crookedly up at him and finally slides off his jeans and so agonizingly slowly pulls down his pants, Louis’ cock springing up hard and wet, flushed crimson. Even the brush of the air is enough to make Louis want to scream out how badly he wants to come.

 

He wants Harry to make him come until he can’t anymore. Until he’s empty and full, all at the same time.

 

“God, fuck me. Fuck me,” he mindlessly pleads, only partially aware of how desperate he sounds. If he could even pretend anymore he doesn’t want Harry, he’s long past that point. He wants him with the fire of five years of lonely, sad wanks, of his fingers never being good enough, of a thousand weak, pathetic orgasms.

 

“Turn over,” Harry breathes out, his voice low and gravelly.

 

Louis does, moaning at how good it feels to get any kind of friction against his dick, even if it’s the scratchy cotton of the hotel room duvet. But before he can even work up any kind of jerky rhythm, Harry’s hands are closing over his hips and they’re unforgiving and strong and they’re holding him down, forcing him to stay still.

 

“Don’t,” is all Harry says and it’s practically a growl. Louis pants into the duvet and tries to get ahold of himself. There’s his desire to come and come and _come_ and it’s warring with his insatiable need to come _now_ and screw the consequences. “You’re gonna come on my cock.”

 

Deep down, Louis knows there’s only one time they can have sex for the first time in five years. And he wants it to be good. He wants it to be fucking incandescent.

 

So he tries to stay still and good for Harry, even though with the way Harry’s hands have reached up and are smoothing over his arse, insistent and hot, it’s really, really hard.

 

“Yeah, I’m gonna come on your cock,” Louis repeats, because nothing has ever sounded better.

 

“Feel so fucking good,” Harry murmurs. “The most gorgeous bum in the entire world.”

 

Louis can’t help the breathy chuckle. “All yours, baby.”

 

“I’ll be honest, mostly I thought about this,” Harry says reverently as he pulls his cheeks apart and Louis shudders as a finger lightly ghosts over his hole. “You’re so perfect.”

 

“Perfectly horny, maybe.”

 

Then it’s Harry’s tongue slicking over his hole and Louis sobs into the duvet, words completely lost. The pleasure is so sudden and it practically short-circuits his brain. He can barely hear Harry’s moans over his own, but they’re both lost in this as Harry tongues from his rim to his balls and back up again, tasting and savoring him like he’s the greatest treat Harry’s ever experienced.

 

Louis is about five seconds away from coming all over himself when Harry pulls away. Louis can’t help but keen in frustration, hands flying helplessly, trying to find Harry’s body so he can force him to stay where he is. “More, more, _more_ ,” he whines. He feels like he’s been reduced to single syllables. _More_ and _Harry_ and _fuck me now please._

“Gonna give you more. But you’ve gotta come around my cock.” Harry sounds determined about this, and Louis almost feels emptied of his own desire now, he’s wanted it so long. He only wants to feel good and make Harry feel good in return.

 

When Harry slowly slides one wet finger in, Louis can’t help but tense a little. He knows he’s tight. Fingering himself without Harry to watch wasn’t fun or fulfilling. And he couldn’t bear to use any of the toys they shared together. So basically, he hasn’t done this in awhile.

 

But Harry must know because he goes so slowly, so fucking slowly, getting Louis way more used to one finger than he’s ever done before, more than he probably did that very first time they did this and they were in a tent in fucking Leeds of all places.

 

Harry slides in another finger, the stretch of it stealing Louis’ breath and he takes even longer, fucking him shallowly and only giving his prostate little teasing brushes.

 

“Gonna give you another,” Harry leans over and whispers, his teeth grazing the skin of Louis’ shoulder and as the finger slides in with the rest, Louis can’t help it. He clenches down around Harry’s fingers and dick throbbing madly, comes like a firecracker. It feels too good, like every dream and every fantasy not only come to life but come _back_ to life. The sort of pleasure that he’d never believed he’d experience ever again but now it’s back and it’s even better than he let himself remember.

 

“Fuck, _hot_ ,” Harry groans as he fucks him through it, his fingers never stopping. Louis comes back to earth and realizes he’s practically eaten a hole in the comforter. He’s wet with come and sweat and saliva and he doesn’t even care. He’s never felt better in his entire life. And he wants more, so much more.

 

“More, more,” he begs and it’s truly mindless now, everything a little sensitive but in the best possible way.

 

“Give you everything,” Harry growls. “Fucking _everything_.”

 

After his orgasm, he’s relaxed and open and Louis really wants Harry to fuck him. “Now,” he demands. “No more waiting.”

 

Harry’s fingers stutter a little and he gives a tiny groan. “Gonna fuck you so good.”

 

“Do it,” Louis pants against the wet cotton, writhing against it, his cock mostly hard again. _Already_. He can’t even remember the last time he got hard again so quickly, but then he never really had a good reason to, not when his own wanks were so lackluster.

 

They’ve just left lackluster back in another universe.

 

Harry slips his fingers out, his other hand anchoring Louis firmly but tenderly. “Wanna see you,” he says and he carefully helps Louis flip over.

 

“Fuck,” Harry breathes out and Louis’ dick just twitches in the mess of come on his belly as Harry reaches down to pet just the head.

 

“Don’t, don’t,” Louis says, because it feels too good. He’s going to come again _already_ and he’s already come once too many times without Harry’s dick in his arse.

 

“You’re going to come again and then we’re going to sleep and then shower and then you’re gonna fuck me,” Harry says and Louis nods his head, because he wants that. He wants everything. There aren’t enough hours in the day for all the things he wants with Harry.

 

“Gonna fuck you first. Gonna make you mine again.” Harry sheds his clothes, and Louis trembles at seeing him like this, all long, lanky muscular lines, dotted with ink. Harry reaches for a condom and Louis shakes his head, almost beyond words.

 

“Clean,” he begs and Harry only nods, trailing a hand down his leg and raises it up to his chest. His cock is snubbing up against his hole then, hot and solid and _big_ and as he begins to push in, Louis has to take a few deep breaths to relax. It’s so much, hard and inescapable, sliding into him, splitting him open.

 

It’s a bit like riding a bicycle; he’s just got to get used to it again. Learn to relax, learn to breathe through it as Harry bottoms out. He holds for a minute, their breathing uneven. Harry leans over and kisses him, just a soft brush of his lips against Louis’—the perfect juxtaposition of the sweetest love and the fiercest lust mashed together. And Louis can’t contain it anymore. “I love you,” he says just as Harry gives a tiny experimental thrust.

 

“I love you too,” Harry breathes out, hitching Louis’ legs up a bit higher to get a better angle and suddenly it goes from vaguely good to fucking mind-blowing, as Harry’s cock brushes right up against his prostate.

 

Louis throws his head back and moans and can’t help but grind back insistently against Harry’s dick, loving the way it fills him up just as perfectly as it always has. _Better_ even.

 

“Love you, love you, _love you_ ,” Harry chants with every single insistent thrust and that makes it even better. Louis feels cherished and adored and loved, and when Harry reaches down to grip his dick, letting it gently thrust through his big, warm hand, Louis’ heart throbs in tandem.

 

Suddenly he’s so close, but he doesn’t want this to end. Doesn’t want the magic to stop. Wants to keep doing this for a hundred years, a thousand. “Forever,” Louis chokes out as the pleasure tightens in his belly and then explodes outward. His eyes are screwed shut but he can feel the come paint his chest, and he can feel Harry’s hips stutter in their rhythm and then he’s moaning through his own orgasm.

 

Louis is covered in come and sweat and god knows what else, but Harry doesn’t hesitate. He crashes right into him, mouth searching for Louis’, his lips murmuring nonsense about love and sex and more than Louis can possibly really comprehend about _forever_.

 

_Yeah, fuck Liam_ , Louis thinks as he drifts off, he and Harry are definitely still soulmates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for everyone's kind words and thoughts. I <3 you all!
> 
> [my tumblr](http://bethaboolou.tumblr.com/). come and say hi!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's so much I want to say, I don't even know where to begin. So I guess I will just stick with the simple and the basic:
> 
> Thank you. Thank you for reading. Thank you for leaving kudos. Thank you for commenting. Thank you for recommending this fic to others. Thank you for reccing it on tumblr. I'm eternally grateful.
> 
> Thank you specifically to LouisHarryandLove for freaking out with me over Louis. Thank you to donotdialnine for being a tireless cheerleader. Thank you to decadent who suggested one of the scenes in this last chapter. And thank you to h3l3n for leaving such brilliant, amazing comments. I am sure I have missed someone--if I did, I'm sorry. I couldn't have written burn to ash without all of you, named or not.

When he and Harry finally emerge from his hotel room, it’s nearly eighteen hours later. They’ve barely slept, they’re both sore and covered in love bites and bruises from head to toe. But Louis knows from the way he looked in the shower-fogged mirror as they get ready to head over to the venue that he’s never looked happier in his entire life.

 

Harry’s glowing too. And it’s a special kind of knowledge, to realize that Louis is the one that’s made him look this way.

 

They finally make it over to the venue—and they’re cutting it so close, Bernard shoots the pair of them a withering look. “I see you’ve finally decided to make it out of bed,” he says.

 

Louis is in way too good of a mood. He’s not a young man anymore, but the number of orgasms he’s had in the last eighteen hours would prove otherwise. So he just rolls his eyes and ignores Bernard. He’s probably just jealous. Everyone wishes they looked this well-fucked, even Bernard.

 

The others are a little harder to ignore.

 

Niall literally falling off the couch, a can of soda clattering to the floor and exploding sluggishly all over the floor, might be explained by the fact that Louis and Harry are holding hands when they enter the green room, or it might be because Louis knows just how smug they currently look.

 

“I can’t believe,” Niall exclaims in awe, still on the floor and in clearly no hurry to move himself or the Dr. Pepper that’s fizzing all over his jeans. “It’s actually happened. You two finally got your heads out of your arses.”

 

Harry’s blushing, all bashful despite the fact that his neck is littered in marks from Louis’ mouth. He looks like a kitten and a sex animal all at the same time, and it’s a look that makes Louis want to drag him back to the bedroom and not leave for a solid week.

 

Unfortunately they’ve got to finish this tour. Then Louis has every intention of making up for lost time. He’s even been thinking about the two of them going on a little trip, maybe somewhere sunny and hot, and just honeymooning for a week. Basking in the sun and nothing else but each other.

 

Then Niall looks closer and nearly falls back over, cackling. “How many times did you two fuck?” he asks between giggles, mostly because Niall’s never really had a filter and anything he did have, Louis knows he and Harry destroyed long ago.

 

“Uh,” Louis stutters.

 

“Don’t worry, we’re _really_ not interested in your sex life,” Zayn says from behind them and Louis glances back to see a genuine smile on his friend’s face. “Just glad that everything worked out.”

 

“Of course it did; they’re soulmates,” Niall retorts. “Besides, I’ve been watching them. It was inevitable. Louis couldn’t stay away.”

 

“I guess that means I win the money,” a third voice chimes in and there’s Liam, looking even _smugger_ , if that was even humanely possible.

 

“What?” Louis exclaims loudly. “ _What_ money?”  


Harry turns to him, blushing even redder. “You mean, you didn’t know about the bet?”

 

Louis is flabbergasted. “You were _betting_ on if we’d get back together?”

 

“Actually,” Liam corrects, “it wasn’t _if_ but _when_.”

 

“And you all bet on this,” Louis asks. He turns to Harry. “Even you?”

 

“I knew about it. I didn’t actually _bet_ ,” Harry says gently.

 

“Why the hell not?” It comes out before Louis can stop it. Maybe he’s just happy with the world right now. Two months ago, this might have pissed him off royally, but now he’s just amused by how silly their friends are.

 

“So Liam obviously won,” Louis says before Harry can be foolish enough to answer that question. His answer might either send them back to the bedroom or make him cry, and Louis can’t handle either of those right now.

 

And then it hits him.

 

“You little cheater!” Louis shrieks. “You fucking sly cheater!”

 

Liam has the nerve to look perplexed. But then he practically has that innocent expression tattooed on his face. He _never_ looks guilty.

 

“You knew I couldn’t drink, especially not if I was going to see Harry. So you pretended to be _sad_ so I’d smoke with you!” It doesn’t matter if Liam never admits it—in fact Louis actually admires his balls, if he’s being perfectly honest—but Louis knows the truth.

 

Liam shrugs. “I _was_ sad. I needed a cheer up. Besides, you give good advice.”

 

Louis bursts out in laughter. “Oh my god, I do _not_.” He glances over in Harry’s direction and sees his boyfriend struggle not to giggle at this.

 

Oh god. _Boyfriend_.

 

It doesn’t even feel weird. It feels like . . . normal.

 

And maybe it is.

 

“Just tell me,” Louis demands, because he’s amused at how much Liam is squirming at being discovered, “what time you bet on.”

 

Niall digs out his phone and consults the screen. “I was a month into the tour. Zayn after the tour was over. And yeah, Liam bet you’d do it in the last two months of the tour.”

 

“Told you!” Louis exclaims triumphantly. “He totally set it up!”

 

“You just needed a bit of a boost,” Liam scrambles and Louis is even more amused. “Don’t even try to tell me you’re not grateful.”

 

“Oh, I’m very grateful. To _myself_ and to _Harry._ We were able to have a very adult conversation about the situation and come to a mutually beneficial conclusion.” Louis knows he sounds smug as fuck and he’s also pretty certain he deserves to.

 

“Oh, I’m sure it was _very_ adult,” Niall snickers. “How many of these conversations did you have?”

 

“So much interest in our sex life,” Harry drawls. “You sure you don’t want to give it a whirl, Nialler? Maybe Liam would be keen to help you out.”

 

Niall blushes. “I’m not gonna go a man.”

 

The thing is, Louis isn’t certain where on the Kinsey scale Niall falls, but he’s definitely not at zero. He’s always been a little intrigued. And now Liam is blushing too, because he’s really still too innocent for his own good.

 

“Don’t knock it til you try it,” Harry offers sagely, clearly coming from a wealth of experience.

 

Niall just laughs, but even more interestingly _Zayn_ is now frowning. Louis wants to disappear back into the bedroom with Harry and never, _ever_ leave. His friends’ relationships are too damn complicated for his simple brain to understand.

 

“So how much money did you win, Payno?” Louis asks because he’s ready for this awkward conversation to end, even though he typically lives to make everyone around him as uncomfortable as possible.

 

“Twenty pounds,” Liam brags proudly, as if he’s not a millionaire many, many times over.

 

It’s official. Louis needs new friends. But then he glances to the side, and Harry’s standing there, glowing and happy, like this is the best day of his life.

 

And it’s kind of the best day of Louis’ too. “Best twenty pounds you’ve ever gotten,” he tells Liam and when Harry nestles into his side, clingy and perfect, Louis knows he’s glowing too.

 

\--

 

The concert is sick, plain and simple.

 

Louis has enjoyed so many of their shows on tour, at least once they got into a groove. But there is something so special about this particular show.

 

It’s the very first time that he and Harry are together and there are literally no rules, no closeting, _nothing_ , to prevent him from literally walking over to his boyfriend and doing whatever he wants to him.

 

It’s heady and incredible.

 

When they sing “The Scientist,” Louis decides there’s no reason to be so far apart. So he shifts his stool right next to Harry’s.

 

Harry was right when he said that the rumors of their reunion are already circulating hard. This is probably only going to send them into overdrive, but Louis finds that he couldn’t give a fuck right now. So he reaches down and tangles his fingers with Harry’s. And if that wasn’t enough, when Louis finishes his chorus, he lifts Harry’s hand and let’s his lips brush over it, once then _twice._

Louis is living the dream and he feels like he’s ascended into space.

 

Harry’s flushed and his expression is pricelessly fond.

 

It was never a safe option, or in the end, what the band needed, but Louis had always wanted to come out like this, to make his love appalling and incredibly clear and to do it on stage. There’s nothing more romantic than music, he thinks, and he and Harry have written each other some pretty soppy love songs over the years.

 

During “Strong,” he turns and sings it only to Harry, who reciprocates with a wide smile and a full complement of dimples. It’s a great moment, just about as fantastic as Louis thought it might be.

 

They’re heading into the final song when Liam corners him. “What the hell are you doing?” he hisses, though he doesn’t exactly sound mad. How can he? Louis fucking won him twenty pounds today.

 

Louis looks him straight in the eye. “Being free.”

 

Liam freezes. He clearly wasn’t expecting Louis to say that, and then when he processes, there’s a small smile. “Well, what are you waiting for then? Go fuck it up.” He gives Louis a playful slap on the back and that’s practically an invitation and Louis knows exactly what he’s going to do.

 

Honestly, though, he knew what he wanted to do last night, as he and Harry cuddled up in bed, sweaty and sticky, tired from the second—or what was it their third?—round of sex.

 

“Tomorrow,” he’d told Harry, pressing his lips to his damp temple, “I want to kiss you.”

 

Harry practically preens. “I want you to. All the time,” he responds very seriously. But there’s a glimmer of a smile playing on his lips, and it’s so wonderful Louis wants to cry. How did he ever live without this?

 

“I mean,” Louis says, his fingers smoothing down Harry’s sides, reveling in how soft and sweet his skin is, “I want to kiss you. On stage.”

 

It’s a pretty radical idea. It used to be one they floated all the time, and one Harry attempted a time or two when they were still young and wild and didn’t quite understand the crap hand they’d been dealt. But it’s not something they’ve discussed seriously in years. It just wasn’t possible and after stomaching so much shit, it hurt worse to fantasize about things that would never come true. After awhile, Louis thinks they started settling a bit, dreaming about silly, throwaway things that ultimately didn’t mean anything—taking the same flight without having to hide, going on a date without it being an operation worthy of the CIA, being able to wish each other a public happy birthday on twitter. Somehow, along the line, they definitely settled.

 

Louis thinks that if he’d had _any_ clue this was all coming, he never would have agreed to come out like they did, in that interview that didn’t showcase how much they truly loved each other. They covered the most basic points, but he feels they glossed right over everything that mattered.

 

He wants a do-over. And he wants a do-over in the most public way possible. He wants everyone on this god forsaken planet to know that he’s in love with Harry.

 

“Okay,” Harry says it so matter-of-factly, so casually, that Louis practically does a double take.

 

“Okay?” he just squeaks.

 

Harry’s expression is warm and fond as he gazes at Louis. “If that’s what you want to do, it’s okay by me. It’s always been okay by me.”

 

“I don’t want there to be any questions. I want everyone to know that I’m yours and you’re mine. Once and for all.”

 

Harry cuddles up into Louis’ chest. “Then there won’t be.”

 

The moment of truth has come. The band plays the opening bars of “Kiss You.” Zayn starts singing. Louis would normally be on the other side of the stage right now, but he’s not been further than two feet away from Harry all night, screw the blocking they’ve worked out. There aren’t any rules anymore and he doesn’t give a flying fuck if Bernard yells at him for ruining the concert.

 

Besides, he hasn’t. There’s definitely a palpable excitement emanating from the crowd. They know they’re seeing something that’s once in a lifetime. They know they’re probably witnessing history.

 

Their fans have always been too involved in their lives, but it’s good to be able to give something back, something _real_ , but if he’s being a hundred and ten percent honest—this is about him. This is about him and Harry and taking back the truth. This is about presenting something on a One Direction stage that is real and true and honest.

 

The chorus starts, and Louis is only half-ass singing because he’s buzzing too much with excitement to even considering putting his all into this. Harry glances over at him and he’s smiling so wide his face might split from it. He knows exactly what’s coming, and drops the microphone at the perfect time, just as the chorus ends.

 

Louis swoops him into his arms, dipping him low, his boy safe and secure in his embrace, and kisses him.

 

He registers so many things. The roar of the crowd. The way Harry’s arms tighten around his waist and his fingertips dig into his skin. The flawless softness of Harry’s lips. The way he goes to pull away, trying to keep the kiss at least a little PG but Harry’s hands reach up and insistently pull him back.

 

He thinks he hears screaming and crying and maybe a riot starting, but he doesn’t give a fuck. This moment feels just as liberating as he dreamed it would.

 

He hears Liam say, “Thanks, we’re One Direction,” and then it’s over. The lights drop and he lifts his mouth off Harry’s.

 

“I love you,” is the first thing he can say, because he does. Because nothing else matters right now.

 

Harry cuddles into Louis’ neck, his cheeks damp. Louis thinks his own might be equally as damp.

 

“I love you too,” Harry whispers back.

 

\---

 

The last four weeks fly by. It feels like they’re ticking off one milestone after another.

 

Their first public dinner. The first time they get papped together. The first time they go dance in a club and end up practically fucking against the wall in an alley and of course someone has a phone and gets video of the whole thing.

 

Bernard quits the tour, claiming that he doesn’t want to deal with a media circus of this magnitude.

 

Louis jokes that if he knew how easy it would be to get rid of him, he and Harry would have started public humping a long time ago.

 

Six months ago, it wouldn’t have been even the slightest bit funny, but now it feels hilarious.

 

Harry claims Bernard quit because he’s got a thing for Louis. Louis finds this even funnier.

 

Liam’s divorce hits the papers and it’s not quite as bad as he imagined it would be, but it still sucks. Louis sees hints of him and Zayn hanging out together but neither one of them will talk about it. Perrie doesn’t come back to the tour. Louis expects nearly every day that Zayn will announce he’s also getting a divorce. Louis throws up his hands and rants to Harry that he doesn’t understand how they managed to get _their_ fucked up shit together, but apparently this tour is ruining everyone else’s relationships.

 

But the truth is, he and Harry are so solid. They’re solid as a rock. If you’d asked him five years ago, in the middle of the Where We Are tour, if he and Harry were solid, even during the _worst_ of Harry’s drinking, Louis would have claimed the same thing. But he’s discovered that solid and _ironclad_ are two different things entirely.

 

What he and Harry have now is steel. It’s been forged in an inferno and it’s forever. Every morning when Louis wakes up and his mouth is full of hair and Harry’s snuffling away next to him, it feels like a benediction and a blessing.

 

It feels like Louis falls a little more in love each day.

 

He still keeps waiting for that moment when he knows he’s forgiven Harry. He doesn’t understand why he hasn’t felt it yet. Shouldn’t he have? He apologizes all the time to Harry, who just gives him funny looks.

 

“Are you happy?” Harry asks one night when they’re getting ready to go to an incredibly romantic dinner on the water in Miami. It’s their last week and Louis shouldn’t be, but he’s feeling the pressure a little. He wants to forgive Harry before they go home. He knows, objectively, that there’s not really a timeline and that he shouldn’t force it, but he knows how much it means to Harry and he wants to give anything and everything he wants.

 

“Of course I’m happy,” Louis says with a frown as he pulls on his jeans and zips them up. How can Harry believe otherwise? The last three weeks has been amazing. Full of love and this kind of blissful relief that they’ve finally emerged from a horrible nightmare that almost ruined their lives. They found each other again; in the end, nothing else really matters.

 

“Then don’t worry, boo bear,” Harry says, reaching over and nuzzling into his neck, trailing tiny kisses down to his collarbones. “Whenever it happens, it happens.”

 

Harry drops lower, his lips cruising over Louis’ tattoos and even though it feels like they’ve hardly stopped having sex, his skin still heats when Harry’s tongue licks along his skin.

 

“You taste so good,” Harry moans a little, and Louis can’t help the way his cock thickens right up. He knew it was a mistake to get dressed in the room instead of in the bathroom. Harry has an obsession with the way Louis tastes right out of the shower and it’s one that’s apparently only grown over the last few years. They’re going to be late or not make it at all if he lets Harry have his way.

 

“If you don’t quit that,” Louis grits out, “we’re never going to make our reservation.”

 

When Harry’s head pops up he’s literally the image of dimpled innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lou,” he says thoughtfully and Louis wants to groan in sexual frustration. Except he can’t possibly be sexually frustrated. Nobody having this much sex could possibly be sexually frustrated.

 

Louis leans down and kisses Harry—quick and sweet, with no tongue—because if he does anything else, they’re not going to be leaving for the next two hours. And while he very much enjoys having sex with his boyfriend, said boyfriend also deserves dates and nice things other than orgasms.

 

“Dessert,” Louis promises and Harry’s face just lights up.

 

“Only if I get to pick what I want,” Harry insists and Louis can hardly argue with him. It’s not like whatever Harry picks—and they’re definitely not talking about ice cream or cookies from the sly, knowing look on his boyfriend’s face—he won’t enjoy it. He definitely will.

 

“Sure,” Louis says, trying to be all casual as he sorts through his suitcase for a shirt to wear. Except his blood is already humming with anticipation.

 

He’s aroused, half-hard practically, from the taxi ride to the restaurant all the way through dinner. Maybe it’s the way Harry eats seafood. Maybe it’s the way Harry eats _anything_.

 

They take a walk along the water and Harry’s so lovely in the setting sun that Louis manages to get his mind out of the gutter for at least ten minutes, but of course, that all goes to hell when they get back in the cab and Harry pulls him onto his lap.

 

“Harry!” Louis exclaims in a hushed whisper. He nudges Harry with his shoulder, but Harry’s already got his mouth on Louis’ neck and as he sucks up the side, leaving a chain of love bites, Louis finds that he cares a lot less that they’re doing this in a public taxi. They practically had sex against an alley wall, with someone recording it on their phone. Only Louis knows how close they came to actually being reprimanded for public indecency. He doesn’t have the heart to tell Harry.

 

He figures they can keep it at PG. And then Harry reaches his ear, and after nibbling the lobe excruciatingly slowly, he leans in. “Gonna eat you out good when we get back,” he whispers in an absolutely filthy voice. “Gonna make you come just from my tongue, yeah?”

 

Any dreams of keeping things PG go right out of the window. Louis’ knees buckle and he mostly collapses onto Harry. He’s suddenly fully hard again and doubting that in a ten minute cab ride that they can keep it together.

 

“Gotta get back to the hotel,” Louis gasps as Harry’s hands reach back and grip his bum cheeks hard, each fingertip digging into flesh, no doubt leaving another round of bruises.

 

The entire world probably thinks they’re sex maniacs, which isn’t too far from the truth probably. When you’ve been without for so long and the sex is _this_ good, Louis thinks they can be excused a little. But Louis isn’t looking forward to another nasty phone call when this cab driver, who keeps giving them assessing looks in the rearview mirror, decides to sell his story to some trashy tabloid.

 

“So impatient,” Harry giggles, even though he’s the one who’s caressing just about every bit of Louis that he can reach.

 

Louis decides to distract Harry by kissing him, making the kisses long and slow and deep. It mostly works. As they finally exit the taxi and Louis throws a few bills at the driver, he hopes that the story has morphed from two crazy nymphomaniacs to two desperate lovers, but with the way Harry’s tugging on his hand, Louis isn’t sure he even cares anymore.

 

They make out in the elevator, no doubt scandalizing the older couple who has the bad luck of having to share with them. When the couple finally exits, Harry has Louis against the wall of the elevator in about ten seconds and he’s sucking bruise after bruise into his collarbones. Louis can’t believe how aroused he is—and they’ve already had sex _twice_ today.

 

“I didn’t realize dates turned you on this much,” he murmurs to Harry, who glances up with a smug grin.

 

“You planned a romantic dinner and I planned dessert. I think I definitely deserve to be this turned on,” Harry whispers hotly against Louis’ skin and he shivers in spite of himself. The floor numbers on the elevator tick by, flashing by quickly but not quite quickly enough.

 

“Am I dessert then?” Louis asks lowly, hypnotized by the intense stare Harry’s giving him. He looks like he wants to eat him alive. And Louis is definitely not going to stop him.

 

“You’re sweet enough,” Harry says against his mouth and then they’re kissing again. Harry reaches for his dick and Louis doesn’t even have the heart to push his hand away. He feels mindless with lust, out of his head with how much he wants it.

 

This last month has been an incendiary combination of their first six months as a couple, when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and all the sexual expertise they’ve developed over the years. It’s bone-meltingly hot and Louis keeps expecting them to slow down, but instead each day seems to burn brighter and hotter than the last.

 

When they finally make it to the room, Louis feels like he can’t get his breath and his cock is throbbing from Harry’s teasing little touches and the absolutely filthy words he keeps whispering in his ear.

 

“Get naked,” Harry says lowly as he unbuttons his shirt the rest of the way down and wiggles out of his jeans. “And get on the bed.”

 

Louis scrambles, throwing clothes every which way in his eagerness to do what Harry says. Of course, that doesn’t make _Harry_ go any faster. Louis settles on his hands and knees, arousal burning low and deep in his belly and tries to mentally prepare for a Harry who’s going to tease and torture him until he’s begging to come.

 

Louis feels the bed dip when Harry joins him and finally Harry’s hands find his skin, his fingertips trailing up his sides and back down again. Even the slightest of touches has Louis trembling.

 

“So beautiful,” Harry croons helplessly, as if he’s just as lost in lust and love as Louis is. And he probably is but Louis can’t turn to find it in his eyes because he’s pinned to the bed by Harry’s hands, resting firmly against his the curve of his bum.

 

“You gonna moan for me, baby?” Harry asks as his fingers trail up and down, just brushing up against his hole. The question isn’t even necessary; Louis moans because he can’t help himself. He’s always been loud in bed, vocal and demanding and full of dirty talk, but something about their reunion has him twice as vocal as usual and Harry loves it.

 

Their neighbors probably not so much, but as Harry finally bends down, his tongue teasingly licking against his rim, Louis finds he doesn’t give a shit.

 

“Oh yeah, baby, just like that,” Harry croons, fingers spreading him wider, his tongue pushing inside. “Wanna hear you.”

 

Louis gives Harry exactly what he wants, crying and pleading and moaning as Harry takes him apart one lick, one clever twist of his wet fingers at a time. It’s deliriously good, the pleasure hot and heady, fizzing inside his veins. When Harry adds the third finger, brushing right along his tongue, it’s almost too much.

 

“Gonna come,” Louis moans into the sheet, damp with sweat and saliva. Normally, he might care and find it a bit gross, but he’s drunk on the way Harry’s pleasuring him, deliberate and sure, as if he knows exactly the way to take him apart piece by piece. And he definitely is. Louis is overwhelmed by how good it feels.

 

“Not yet,” Harry says even as his fingers brush up against Louis’ prostate. He squirms, trying to get some friction on his cock, and Harry uses his free hand to still his hips.

 

“Turn over,” Harry finally says. Louis’ knees collapse and he practically falls over. Harry’s looming over him, eyes dark and wild. “Gonna fuck you now,” he says.

 

And he does, his pace deliberate and careful, giving Louis just enough pleasure that he’s wild with it, but not quite enough to make him come. Only when he’s incoherent and pleading does Harry finally relent, hips snapping faster, pounding against the spot inside Louis that makes him cry.

 

When Louis finally comes, it’s with a shriek and it goes on forever, ropes of come shooting across his chest, up to his chin.

 

“Fuck,” Harry yells savagely as he follows suit, shoving his cock deep inside and Louis feels him pulsing. If he hadn’t just come, he’d probably come again, Louis thinks dimly.

 

After a quick cleanup, they cuddle in bed, Louis listening to Harry’s heartbeat. The silence is warm and comforting around them, until Harry speaks. “Gemma said she found me an apartment. For when we go back to London.”

 

Louis is too shaky and mindless from the insanely good sex to have this conversation right now. But it seems he’s not going to get a choice because Harry’s brought it up. He clearly wants to talk about it.

 

The thing is, what Louis really wants is for Harry to move back home. As far as he’s concerned, Harry shouldn’t be anywhere else but next to him. In bed, on the couch, in his life. That’s where Harry belongs. It’s where he’s always belonged. Normally, yes, asking someone to move in with you after dating them for barely a month would be concerning, but this is their second chance. They’ve done this before. This time they’re just going to do it _better_.

 

But what Harry wants is important too. Maybe he wants to be on his own, get his feet under him in London before he makes things serious with Louis. He’s been through a lot. Louis would totally understand that.

 

Louis thinks he deserves a lot of credit for the calm, collected way he asks, “Is that what you want?” After all, his brain is fried from the incredible sex they’ve just had. He’s not functioning at a hundred percent mentally here.

 

Harry doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “I don’t know, I wasn’t sure . . .” he finally admits with uncertainty clear in his voice.

 

“I should have said something sooner,” Louis admits. “Everything was just so good, I didn’t want to fuck it up.”

 

“So just to be clear, you want me to move back in with you?” Harry asks softly.

 

Louis hugs Harry tighter and closer. “Yes.” He pauses. “But I don’t want you to think you _have_ to. If you think it’s too quick or want more space or . . . _whatever_. I just want you to be happy.”

 

Harry hums into Louis’ skin. Louis glances up at him and his eyes are mostly closed and he looks rather contemplative. “I want to, I do,” he finally says. “It feels like all I’ve ever wanted—to be home with you again. But I think it wouldn’t be a bad idea to think it over first.”

 

Louis can’t help but be a little disappointed. Of course he wants Harry to do what’s best for him and his recovery, he really, truly does. But he almost expected Harry to jump all over the idea, to feel the same way about it that Louis does—that it’s _right_.

 

And in the end, Louis can’t help but wonder if maybe this is Harry’s last ditch effort at protecting that final little corner of his heart just in case Louis’ forgiveness isn’t forthcoming. He doesn’t _say_ that of course, but Louis thinks it anyway. Why else would Harry hesitate when they both clearly want the same thing?

 

\--

 

Louis finally corners Zayn the next afternoon. They’re still in Florida, and Zayn’s braving the humidity outside, stealing his one free cigarette of the day.

 

Louis painfully quit three years ago, but he still nearly considers asking Zayn for a cigarette. He figures he might deserve one, for the conversation he’s about to have.

 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Louis starts with, because Zayn can sometimes be super complacent about things he shouldn’t be complacent about. And this is clearly one of them. Louis feels semi-obligated to jolt Zayn out of whatever holding pattern he’s let himself fall into—and not only for Zayn’s sake. For Perrie’s sake. For Liam’s sake.

 

And Zayn knows it too. Thus why he’s been avoiding Louis.

 

“I know,” Zayn says, and he’s still looking at the ground, as the ashes from his cigarette float to the pavement.

 

“What happened?” Louis asks. And he doesn’t specify what occurrence Zayn should be explaining, because there are too many to even pick from.

 

How did his marriage to Perrie go wrong? They seemed so happy. They have a child together—a child they both clearly adore.

 

Has he truly been harboring feelings for Liam this entire time?

 

Why didn’t he _say_ something before he married Perrie? Before Liam married Sophia?

 

That last part at least Louis understands. Sometimes it’s too much to speak up, to say the words out loud, especially to the one person who deserves to hear them.

 

But the rest, the rest Louis is definitely curious about.

 

Zayn just shrugs. “We haven’t been happy in awhile, I guess. And I’ve always wanted a family, a child. When Liam married Sophia, there didn’t seem to be any reason to wait.”

 

Louis knows his friends are stupid. But this is truly sad. “I’ll remind you that you married Perrie two years before Liam and Sophia got married.”

 

Zayn throws the smoking remains of his cigarette to the ground, scuffing it out relentlessly with the toe of his boot. “I never said I was perfect,” he grumbles. “I loved—I do _love_ —Perrie. But yeah like . . .”

 

Zayn doesn’t need to finish the sentence, Louis understands perfectly. “Not like you do Liam.”

 

Nodding, Zayn leans back against the wall.

 

“I think if Harry had been gone even a year or two later, I probably would have done the same thing you did,” Louis thinks out loud.

 

“Settled?” Zayn asks.

 

It sounds so ugly, but it’s the truth. He’d been so alone, so desperately lonely in that house. And one day he probably would have gotten desperate enough to find someone he could love, at least a little. Never like he loved Harry, but enough that every day wouldn’t be so god damned empty. It wouldn’t have been fair to the man, just as it isn’t fair to Perrie and wasn’t fair to Sophia either, but none of them have ever claimed to be selfless angels.

 

They fuck up just as much as everybody else in the world, they do just do it while they’re rich and famous so every mistake gets printed in screaming capital letters on the front of the tabloids.

 

“He could have said something too,” Louis points out. “And he never did.” It’s absolutely the truth. They’ve both kept so quiet about this, both so afraid that it wasn’t real or wasn’t reciprocated.

 

Zayn shifts uncomfortably. “I want you to know the open marriage bit, it’s not about Liam.”

 

“I know you didn’t tell me about it,” Louis says, more than a little accusingly. “According to Liam nobody wanted to tell me about their relationship problems because I was a sad sack of shit.”

 

Zayn laughs. “Well, you kinda were, mate.”

 

Louis wants to scream from the top of the tallest building that he isn’t anymore. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this fucking happy. “Not anymore, though,” Louis says, casually, as he’s not fantasizing about plastering billboards with it.

 

“But yeah, it’s not really about Liam. I guess, I mean, Perrie and I were . . . struggling, I guess you could say. And then she met someone.” Zayn says it like it’s not a big deal, but of course it is. Zayn did love her— _does_ love her, even if he also loves Liam—and being replaced like that would sting no matter what.

 

“I’m sorry,” Louis says. It’s totally inadequate but it’s all he’s got.

 

Zayn shrugs again. “We were never some epic love story. Not like you and Harry.”

 

“That doesn’t mean your feelings are insignificant,” Louis insists.

 

“Anyway, we decided to at least stick it out a year or two, because of Farah.”

 

There’s really only one thing Louis came out here to say. So now that he understands a bit better what’s going on, he feels rather compelled to say it. “Don’t lead Liam on,” he warns. “Whatever you do with him, at least _tell_ him, because I feel like he’s struggling a bit.”

 

Zayn’s expression grows fond, the love in his eyes growing by the second. Louis wondered how he never really noticed it before. He did a long time ago, of course, but for the last six or seven years, he’s not noticed it. Was Zayn just better at hiding it back then? Or has Louis just been an insensitive, unaware arsehole?

 

“I know he is. But he’s always struggled with that part of him,” Zayn admits. “I told him that if he least comes out of the closet privately, we can see what happens between us.”

 

It makes absolute sense that Zayn wouldn’t want to hide. They’ve done enough years of hiding. And Zayn and Liam saw firsthand what hiding did to Louis and Harry’s relationship.

 

Louis sighs. “Let me guess, he’s terrified.”

 

Zayn looks down at the ground. It’s like Zayn to pass judgment but of course that hurts too. It hurts that your wife fell in love with someone else. It hurts that the love of your life is petrified of being honest about what he really wants—that he’s so scared that you’ve lost years and years of being together.

 

Louis reaches over and wraps his arms around Zayn. “I’m sorry. So sorry, man. But he’ll come around. He will.” Louis really hopes he’ll be right in the end. Because he’s not nearly as confident as he sounds. He _hopes_ Liam manages to get his head out of his ass. But there’s no telling if that will actually ever happen and frankly, Zayn deserves it.

 

\--

 

The idea comes to Louis before the second to the last show. He and Harry are cuddled up on the couch in their dressing room—okay, it _was_ only Harry’s dressing room, but in the last month, having five dressing rooms has become rather superfluous, rather like the five hotel suites that are reserved in every city.

 

Harry’s scrolling through twitter and Louis isn’t doing much of anything at all, thoughts wandering every which way, though mostly staying focused on just how happy he is right now.

 

Harry still hasn’t given him an answer about moving back in, but Louis is trying to take his hesitation as a positive step. He strokes over Harry’s arm, tracing the inked lines of his rose, and then it comes to him in a flash.

 

He hasn’t really gotten any tattoos since Harry left, but he’d never been adverse to getting more. And they’d always discussed Louis one day finishing this particular set—and Louis had always insisted he wanted to wait to get it until the moment was close at hand, until they were so near to being out of the closet he could practically taste the freedom.

 

Well, he missed the boat on that. They’re out and free now. They haven’t technically confirmed to any media outlets that they’re a couple, but they kiss on stage fairly regularly and _always_ at the end of “Kiss You,” the last song of the show, and they go on dates, and then there was the matter of that fairly public almost-wall sex.

 

Basically, Louis feels like he’s never been freer in his entire life. There is absolutely _nothing_ he is hiding.

 

Maybe it’s finally time to complete this set.

 

The last show of the tour is in Dallas. Louis surreptitiously digs out his phone and texts a few friends who might know of a really good tattoo shop in Texas. He’d rather have someone he knows and trusts do the tattoo, since it’s going to be so important, but maybe the process of inking it into his skin will finally be the last step he needs to forgive Harry.

 

By the time the show ends and he and Harry have fallen back into their dressing room, sweaty and high on the adrenaline of a great show, he’s gotten the replies he needs and more than enough names.

 

While Harry’s in the shower, he googles the shops and picks one.

 

While Harry’s still asleep the next morning, before they leave Nashville and head to Texas, Louis sneaks out of the room and makes the call himself, setting an appointment for late tonight.

 

They’ve got two days until the Dallas show and Harry’s talked about wanting to stop in Austin. This might mean Louis would be cutting that side trip a bit short, or that he might not be able to make it at all, and he feels bad, he does, because he knows how much Harry likes these excursions, but this is important.

 

When Louis mentions having something to do in Dallas tonight over breakfast, Harry just mumbles around his toast that it’s cool and he’ll just pal around with Niall in Austin. Louis wonders if Harry can feel how he’s practically vibrating with energy and excitement, buzzing with it under his skin, but he doesn’t say anything. They part ways with several long kisses, right in the front of the hotel. Louis thinks he might see a photographer’s flash bulb or two, but he doesn’t give a shit. Even though they’ll be separated barely twenty four hours, it’s still twenty four hours longer than they’ve been since they got back together.

 

“Gonna miss you,” Louis mumbles into Harry’s shoulder. “Eat lots of good barbecue for me.”

 

Louis likes to pretend he’s not a tiny bit needy, but it’s a lie.

 

Harry’s grip gets a little tighter around him. “I’ll bring you some.”

 

Okay, he’s a _lot_ needy.

 

Which is probably why he ends up dragging Liam to Dallas and to the tattoo parlor.

 

“You are the biggest sap ever,” Liam announces as Louis and the artist nail down the details of the design.

 

“And you _should_ be,” Louis retorts. There’s a bit of fear in Liam’s eyes now, like he honestly wasn’t expecting Louis to call him on the whole bullshit with Zayn. But Louis wouldn’t be Louis if he _didn’t_ say something.

 

“We’re definitely talking about this,” Louis says offhandedly, and Liam goes a bit pale. “But not right now. Right now you have to help me decide where I’m putting this tattoo.” Louis holds up his mostly bare arm. “I’m kinda thinking this arm. The red accents would look sick with my wrist.”

 

Liam gives him an incredulous look. “Nevermind that if you held Harry, literally your two tattoos would _fit together_.”

 

Louis smiles smugly. “Oh, and there’s that too.”

 

Liam throws up his hands in exasperation. “Remind me why I’m here again with your sorry arse, and not in Austin with Niall and Harry and Zayn?”

 

“Moral support?” Louis suggests archly. “It _has_ been a while since I’ve gotten a tattoo.”

 

“Given a chance, you’d get one with Harry every day,” Liam grumbles under his breath, but not quite quiet enough for Louis to miss his words.

 

“Given a chance, I’d do everything with Harry _every_ day,” Louis says.

 

Then it hits him. He’s already been given the chance. Or rather, they’ve _made_ the chance.

 

Before he can even consider what he’s doing, he’s calling the tattoo artist over with insistent exclamations and big hand gestures, trying to explain what it is he wants now.

 

The artist looks back him with a confused expression. “Given a chance?” he asks.

 

The words settle deep into Louis’ bones, the way that the words will settle into his skin in a few minutes. “Given a chance,” Louis confirms and the artist must see the certainty in his expression because he nods in agreement.

 

“Okay. Just wanted to make sure you’re sure.”

 

“Trust me mate,” Liam pipes in, “he’s definitely sure.”

 

The artist just shrugs and goes to prepare another stencil paper.

 

He’s back in only a few minutes and they get started.

 

“Is this gambling thing gonna be your new nautical?” Liam asks while Louis leans back and lets the irritating pain wash over him in gentle waves.

 

“Shut up, Payno,” Louis grits out. He’s never enjoyed needles, doesn’t really dig the pain of tattoos the way that Harry does. But he did it anyway, because those Modest arseholes were too stupid to include them in their contracts. Then he kept doing it because Harry loved it so much and even Louis became kind of addicted to the idea that there were symbols all over their bodies that told their story, even though they weren’t allowed to with their mouths.

 

But even though he’s never liked needles, he still rather enjoying the trial of this one. The pain of the needle is a ghostly reminder of all the other pain he’s endured over the last five years, and as he breathes in and out, his breath pushing out this pain, he imagines ridding himself of the rest of it as well. Cleansing himself, in a way.

 

When the tattoo’s finally done and Liam’s properly gushed over how great it is—and it _is_ great, it’s exactly what Louis wanted—Louis suggests they grab a bite to eat.

 

They find a bar open late near their hotel that serves food, and Liam’s only taken one sip of his beer when Louis decides he’s waited plenty of time. “I talked to Zayn,” he announces.

 

Liam freezes, his pint glass halfway up to his mouth again.

 

“Liam,” Louis chides gently. “There’s absolutely no shame in what you feel.”

 

There’s misery and more than a little shame etched on Liam’s face now, though. “I know that,” he defends, but there’s no real fight there. Liam’s acting like he’s already given up, that he’s already lost. Already lost Zayn, and that’s just so dumb that Louis wants to take them both and beat their heads together until they finally stop fighting each other and start fighting _for_ each other.

 

Not like he’s exactly a poster child for healthy relationships, but _fuck_ , Louis reconsiders, he _kind of is_.

 

“I think it’s time you forgive Zayn for Perrie,” Louis suggests kindly, “and time for you to forgive yourself for marrying Sophia. You’ve both fucked up, you both hid and denied your feelings. For god’s sake, let yourselves be happy. If I’m able to forgive Harry, then you should certainly be able to fix things.”

 

Liam just gapes at him. Louis frowns. His speech was maybe a trifle hard-nosed, but nothing drastic or ridiculous, _why_ is Liam looking at him like that?

 

“You said,” Liam stutters out. “You just said you forgive Harry.”

 

Louis’ immediate, instant reaction is to argue with Liam. There’s _no_ way he would have just said that out loud, not if he didn’t, and he certainly would _realize_ he forgives Harry if he does. But then he remembers his words and then he remembers how it felt like all the pain was just trickling out of him while he’d gotten the tattoo tonight.

 

Fuck, maybe he _does_ forgive Harry.

 

“I guess I do,” Louis finally says, mystified at how mysteriously the human heart works. He wondered sometimes if he’d ever be able to, and even when he thought it was possible, even when he’d wanted to _so badly,_ it had seemed like an impossible climb.

 

But now he’s here at the top and the view is _amazing_.

 

Unsurprisingly, there’s only one person he wants to share it with. He loves Liam, but this feels like a special moment and it sucks that Harry’s not here to share it with him.

 

“Well, then I guess we really do need to get our shit together,” Liam grumbles into his half-full glass. “There’s literally no excuses left.”

 

Louis thinks Liam’s never been more honest in his life, and it’s great. “None whatsoever,” he agrees. He lifts his glass. “Let’s toast to new beginnings.”

 

Liam gives him a single look, basically one big, _how the fuck did you get so sappy_ , look, but he does it anyway, clinking his glass against Louis’.

 

“When do they get here again?” Liam asks morosely.

 

Louis doesn’t blame him for worrying a bit. Liam and Zayn have a shit ton of baggage to work through. Zayn is technically still married. It’s not going to be fun or pleasant, even though they’ve got a happy ending theoretically waiting for them on the other side.

 

Louis didn’t even know when all this began that he’d even have that. He thought maybe that he’d be forced to endure Harry’s presence for however long the tour lasted, then he’d have to go back to his boring, staid, mediocre life.

 

Not that it means more that Louis and Harry’s story had such an uncertain ending up til a month ago, but Louis kinda thinks it does. When you work hard for something, it just means more.

 

And nothing means more to him than Harry.

 

“Tomorrow afternoon,” Louis says, and he realizes he can’t wait. He can’t wait to show Harry his tattoo and tell him what he’s just realized.

 

\--

 

Louis wakes up rather suddenly from his comfy bed and his nice, quiet nap, when a rather large body flings itself onto his.

 

It’s not pretty, but he definitely shrieks. He really hopes it’s not some crazy fan, back to stalk them like they always used to back in the day. When he gingerly opens one eye, all he can see is emerald green and creamy skin and dark curls. He sighs, wiggling a little to try to readjust Harry’s body weight.

 

“Heavy,” he breathes out as Harry beams at him.

 

“Missed you so much,” Harry says, a horribly impudent grin on his face.

 

“Missed you too,” Louis grumbles. Okay, he’s just woken up. He was expecting Harry a few hours later, but here he is anyway.

 

“Couldn’t wait to see you. Made everyone leave early. The barbecue wasn’t any good without you,” Harry pouts.

 

Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s slim waist and with a quick twist of his thighs, flips them over, settling onto Harry’s lap like he was born to be there. Which, in retrospect, he kind of probably was.

 

“Did you bring me some?” he asks lazily, tracing circles across the flesh of Harry’s tanned stomach, where his shirt’s ridden up.

 

“Yep.” Harry looks very pleased with himself.

 

“Got a surprise for you too,” Louis murmurs and lifts his arm, still covered in the tattoo wrapping, up for Harry to see.

 

Harry’s jaw drops. “You got a tattoo?” he squawks. “Without me?”

 

“Wanted it to be a surprise,” Louis explains shyly, and holds his arm out. “Unwrap it and see.”

 

The few moments it takes for Harry to carefully unwrap the tattoo have Louis heart beating fiercely. He’s alternating between joyful and petrified. This is a lot. Once he tells Harry he’s forgiven him, there’s nothing stopping them, nothing holding them back.

 

They’re absolutely free and clear for the rest of their lives. And there’s nothing Louis wants more than Harry for the rest of his life.

 

When Harry fumbles with the last bit of wrapping and it finally falls away, a hush falls. Harry is just staring unblinkingly at the dagger inked into Louis’ arm and the “given a chance” script that’s just underneath it.

 

“Is this . . . is this for me? For _us_?” Harry finally asks in a hushed, awed voice, his finger reaching out to gingerly trace the still sensitive lines of the tattoo.

 

Louis nods. “To match your rose,” he adds, as if Harry’s somehow forgotten.

 

“And given a chance?” Harry asks wonderingly.

 

“Because given a chance, I will choose you. Every single time.” Harry’s eyes snap up to his, and there’s surprise there, but wonder too. Louis is in wonder too, that after all this time, after everything that’s happened, they’ve found each other again.

 

“It’s funny,” Louis continues softly, “because while I was getting it, I kept breathing in and out, pushing the pain out, the actual physical pain. And with each breath I took, it was like I pushed out a bit of the other pain too. And when it was done, I realized that it was all gone. Every bit of it.”

 

The expression in Harry’s eyes is like a dawn after a very long night of storms. “You forgive me,” Harry says.

 

“I forgive you,” Louis confirms. He leans down as Harry reaches up and their lips meet, and it’s every perfect fairy tale ending that he never thought he’d get, but that he managed to wrangle out of the agony and the destruction of the last five years.

 

Harry feels like home.

 

\--

 

Louis forgives, but he doesn’t forget.

 

You couldn’t possibly ever forget. He doesn’t expect that he ever will, and that’s okay.

 

The fact that there’s been some rain, some pain and suffering in their relationship, makes enjoying the wonder and the love that they’ve salvaged so much sweeter.

 

They go home to London and Harry doesn’t move in. He keeps the little flat that Gemma found for him for six months.

 

At first Louis is a little hurt. He truly believed that once he was able to forgive Harry, Harry would want nothing more than to move back in. To move back _home_.

 

But it turns out that while Harry does, more than anything, he doesn’t actually do it, and the reason makes Louis love him even more, in the end.

 

“We’re not just resuming our relationship,” he tells Louis seriously the night after their last concert, while they’re laying wrapped up together in bed, the sweat on their bodies still cooling from the awe-inspiring sex they’ve just had. “We’re starting new. Fresh. And you wouldn’t just move in with someone if you’d only been dating them for a little over a month.”

 

But it turns out that even though Harry rents the little flat, much to Louis’ gloating pleasure, he’s barely ever in it.

 

One night, Harry actually tries to spend the night there, after Louis has a long day driving up and back from Doncaster to visit Rovers headquarters. Harry ends up driving over at three in the morning after a night tossing and turning and Louis, sleepy but unable to fall asleep either, welcomes him with relief in his voice. After that day, more and more of Harry’s wardrobe ends up back in the closet, there are more kitchen gadgets than ever that Louis doesn’t recognize in his drawers, and there’s pots of flowers and herbs back in the yard.

 

 When the lease is up on the flat, there’s not even a question. They pack up Louis’ Range Rover with the rest of Harry’s things—and there’s not even that much left that isn’t already at the house they share—and he officially moves back in.

 

One Direction finishes their fourth album. It’s released to much critical and public acclaim, especially two tracks on the album—“Where Do Broken Hearts Go” is an enormous radio success and Louis complains cheekily that he hears it wherever he goes. Harry just nudges him with a hip and kisses him quiet.

 

“Once in a Lifetime” is their next single. The video features Louis and Harry at a piano and it breaks every VEVO record.

 

They don’t ever play stadiums again—but only by choice. When _Rolling Stone_ hails them as the next U2, Louis curls up in the bathtub he shares with Harry and cries.

 

They’re not just tears of redemption or tears of validation. They’re not sad tears, really, or happy tears.

 

For a minute or two, Louis doesn’t even know _why_ he’s crying. Then he realizes it’s all of the above. He’s happy and sad and relieved and proud and so many other things he can’t even name them all.

 

One day, a very long time ago, Simon Cowell gave him a chance to do something with his life and the life of four other strangers, and though it worked well enough for awhile, there came a time when Louis was sure he’d fucked it up and the chance for an extraordinary life was over.

 

But he rose from the ashes and he found the other half of his soul again and with their three other best friends, they’re still here and they’re still doing what they love.

 

He’s crying not because it’s the end, but because it’s only the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](http://bethaboolou.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [fic post on tumblr, if you'd be awesome enough to reblog!](http://bethaboolou.tumblr.com/post/115646232265/burn-to-ash-by-bethaboo-110-239-words-complete)
> 
> [a playlist of all the songs I've mentioned + songs that inspired me while I was writing burn to ash](http://hypster.com/playlists/user/bethaboolou?7084984)  
>  
> 
> someday, there will be an epilogue set sometime in the future.


	20. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this finished officially in April, I have gotten so many incredible comments and messages about this fic. So this epilogue is for you (and for everyone who wanted to see a bit into Harry's psyche. it's not a very bright place sometimes, but I think he's gonna be okay).
> 
> thanks to keri for reading through this very last minute.
> 
> "cecelia and the satellite" by andrew mcmahon in the wilderness

“Did you ever think we’d be here?” Niall asks.

 

Louis looks around the crowded queue—cameras lining the red carpet, glitter and sparkle and the sheen of money and success tinged with the barest hint of desperation laid over everything—and shakes his head.

 

Of course, Liam speaks up. “I dreamt about it,” he confesses in a hushed whisper.

 

“You mean, you had a _wet_ dream about it,” Zayn teases.

 

Liam looks affronted and then embarrassed.

 

He probably did have a wet dream about it— _and_ Zayn would know about it, because Louis knows they’re sharing a bed most nights and trying to figure out exactly what they are.

 

Liam isn’t out to the public yet, and they aren’t nearly ready to come out as a couple, but Liam’s parents know and so do Zayn’s and Farah has started to calling Liam _Poppa_. It’s disgustingly adorable and Louis tries to pretend he isn’t halfway desperate for kids himself.

 

In any case,  Louis isn’t sure he can blame Liam for any untoward nighttime excretions. It _is_ the Grammys after all, and they’re not just here to decorate the crowd or present an award—they’re _nominated_ for an award.

 

Awards, actually.

 

“Okay, lads,” Louis speaks up, because somehow, after they’ve all been to hell and back, he’s become the leader again. “Anything we’re making sure we don’t talk about?”

 

“That Lou and Hazza just fucked in the limo on the way over?” Niall suggests with a sly grin. “The ten children they’re probably going to adopt in the next year? Oh, how about the secret love nest Louis just bought Harry in Bali?”

 

“I thought it was in Martinique,” Harry objects with a grin, dimples pressing deep into his cheeks. He looks stunning tonight, Louis thinks, all glittering green eyes and soft curls, longer than he’s ever had them. Louis particularly enjoys grabbing onto them while he’s deep inside, wrapping his fingers through the strands and forcing Harry’s back into a particularly deep arch.

 

“Personally, I voted for Jamaica,” Louis adds in, because there’s nothing better than seeing Harry flush pink under the right attention. And only they know there _really_ is a love nest and that it’s actually in Jamaica. They haven’t even told the other boys yet, mostly to try to escape the merciless ribbing that’s become standard in the last year.

 

But as much as Louis whines and complains about it, deep down he loves it. Teasing is leagues better than the careful truce of only a year ago.

 

He’ll take a million jokes at just how much he loves and worships and spoils Harry over the bleak, desperate depression he’d been suffering from what seems like such a short time ago.

 

And suddenly, they’re moving along the line of reporters, flashes in their faces, and they’re facing their very first red carpet since reuniting as a band and since Harry and Louis figured their shit out.

 

The first reporter is blond, thin and a shade of orange that Louis doesn’t think genuinely appears in nature. It’s horribly cliché of him, but he already doesn’t expect anything. They’ve done so many of these through the years, and he’s betting she either leads with a question about what designer they’re wearing or who they’re most excited to see perform.

 

_Saint Laurent_ , Louis thinks, _and Harry_.

 

Louis is almost disappointed when she completely eclipses his expectations and instead says, “Boys, I have to say, I’m a huge fan. I always hoped you’d be here someday. I know the going got tough for awhile, but how does it feel to be back together and at the Grammy’s, nominated for Album of the Year and Song of the Year?”

 

“I want to say we’re so lucky, but really, _I’m_ so lucky,” Harry speaks up. “I never even let myself dream it might happen.”

 

“And Harry, you’re with Louis tonight.” She gestures to their hands, fingers intertwined. “That must be at least part of why you’re feeling so lucky.”

 

Harry beams. “Absolutely. It feels amazing. Like freedom.”

 

“Same for you, Louis?” she asks him.

 

Louis can’t help his smile. He remembers forcing smiles on red carpets through the years, praying just to make it through without glancing in Harry’s direction and bringing the wrath of their handlers down on them. Now, it just blossoms unbidden. “Harry’s right,” Louis agrees, “it feels like freedom.”

 

“Your story is revolutionizing the way managements are allowed to treat their clients,” she continues, and Louis is now _really_ impressed. “There’s even talk of creating licensing for talent managers, much the same way sports agents are licensed and regulated. What are your thoughts?”

 

They all let Zayn field this one, since he’s the one working most closely with a number of lobby groups on this very issue. They’re all unbearably proud that Zayn is advocating so strongly for this and hopeful that there might be a time in the future when a management company actually isn’t _allowed_ to have so much control over their clients’ personal lives. It’s a heady thought.

 

“And you Harry, you’re also working closely with some groups on addiction recovery.”

 

“It’s a subject near and dear to my heart. There’s so many people to help, I just wish I could do more,” Harry says and Louis feels like he might burst with pride at his boy. His boy, who’s been through so much, but still has so much love to give. He’s a walking miracle, it seems sometimes.

 

“Louis. Liam. You two produced this album. Are you considering working together in the future?”

 

“Definitely on the next album for One Direction,” Liam says, “but we’re also in talks to produce Sam Smith’s next album.”

 

The reporter gushes about that, and Louis can’t help but blush. Sometimes he thinks he might pinch himself and wake up. He can’t believe that he’s the same man as that sad, pathetic loser who moped around the house for five years, practically never leaving and letting himself mold in front of the telly.

 

They move down the line, but the next stop is just Harry and Louis, the PA tells them. They still aren’t used to these quite yet, and Louis can feel Harry tense next to him. He leans in, close enough that the mics won’t pick up what he whispers in Harry’s ear. “Ten pounds he asks about the love nest in Bali,” he murmurs and he practically _feels_ Harry relax.

 

“You’re on,” Harry tells him with a single bright smile.

 

“Harry, Louis,” Ryan Seacrest asks, and Louis barely manages to nod without an accompanying eye roll. “You’ve both been through so much, but you’re still together, still in love. Tell our viewers the secret to your relationship.”

 

“Communication. It’s so important to talk things out,” Harry replies immediately and Louis doesn’t hold back. He just rolls his eyes.

 

“Not even close, Harold,” Louis contradicts with a teasing grin. “I’d say more like communication between the sheets, if you get my drift.”

 

“Speaking of that,” Ryan inserts slyly, probably all the while hoping they’ll manage to stay PG-13, “what’s this I hear about a secret Balinese getaway that Louis bought you, Harry?”

 

Harry bursts into hysterical laughter. Ryan looks epically confused, but Harry can’t even continue the interview because he can’t stop laughing so they finally have to move on. Harry doesn’t even look the tiniest bit sad about the ten pounds.

 

Louis should have made it a hundred.

 

“That was unfair,” Harry complains happily as they walk into the amphitheater, a PA showing them to their seats near the front. Okay, _in_ the front row. They’re nominated for Album of the Year _and_ Song of the Year, thank you very much. “Of course he was gonna ask about Bali when you said the secret of our relationship was sex!”

 

“Are you saying it’s not?” Louis asks with a very smug eyebrow raise.

  
Harry flushes again, so pink, and though he’s been looking forward to this evening for a very long time—his whole life, really—he’s just about ready to drag Harry back to the limo.

 

“Twenty minutes alone,” Zayn drawls as the other three approach. “Who wants to bet they actually managed to keep it in their pants?”

 

Harry clearly doesn’t understand the point of a bet, because he pipes right up. “Louis told Ryan Seacrest that the secret of our relationship was sex.”

 

“Not exactly breaking news,” Liam counters. “Remember when that pap got video of them practically shagging against that alley wall?”

 

“Payno,” Louis screeches. Bringing up almost-alley sex the night of the Grammys is just rude.

 

Harry just looks thoughtful. “We could always re-enact it in case anyone’s forgotten.”

 

Louis goes hot all over and wills his dick not to get hard. In these slacks, it’s gonna be insanely obvious and the show is starting in approximately two minutes. And they’re sitting in the front row. He doesn’t exactly fancy having to cover his crotch with his hands at the first pan of the camera.

 

Thankfully, he’s distracted by the arrival of Jay-Z and Beyoncé, who he _knew_ were sitting next to them, but it’s still a _lot_ to take in, and it’s even more when Beyoncé immediately turns to her right, diamonds flashing under the bright lights and leans in to give them both quick hugs and cheek kisses.

 

Harry looks completely starstruck, like Beyoncé just punched him, not kissed him, and Louis thinks his own expression probably isn’t much of an improvement.

 

“You two holding up okay?” she asks softly, her eyes kind. She seems a lot more like a mother than he expected, even dolled up in a sparkling silver gown and probably a few million in diamonds draped over her. “It’s a lot the first time.”

 

“Lot of firsts,” Harry manages to mumble out and Louis would normally be _very_ amused that Harry’s been struck dumb, but since his mind is equally as blank, it’s not quite the same.

 

She reaches out and squeezes Harry’s arm. “I just want to say, we’re both big fans. We love the album.”

 

Louis can’t help it; he fishmouths a little.

 

Typically when faced with a situation in which he can’t think of what to say, he says the first and usually most inappropriate thing he can think of. Unfortunately for Beyoncé, his track record continues unbroken.

 

“Got lots of your records on our sex playlist,” he says.

 

Harry goes bright red and Beyoncé just laughs. “You’re cute,” she giggles. “Which ones?”

 

Louis tries to dredge up some shame, but well, anyone who’s smart _should_ have sex to Beyoncé. So maybe he’s embarrassed he actually told her, but other than that, _nope_ , there’s no shame there.

 

“Haunted for sure,” Harry says, because of course, he’s going to take her question seriously. “Drunk in Love. Love on Top is a favorite of mine, actually.”

 

Louis rolls his eyes. “What you mean, _Harold_ , is that you’ve always wanted to ask the driver to roll up the partition, please.”

 

Beyoncé seems to have landed somewhere in between shock and amusement. She leans in and pats his cheek. “Very cute,” she repeats. “I’m rooting for you two.”

 

When she turns back to Jay, and Harry and Louis sit down, both still a bit in shock that the conversation happened at all, Liam leans over and says, “were you discussing your favorite Beyoncé songs _with_ Beyoncé?” He sounds rather affronted. Louis almost doesn’t want to tell him the truth.

 

But then the lights begin to dim. “Um,” Harry says, and really, Louis thinks, it’s probably better left at that.

 

\--

 

They don’t win.

 

Harry went in rather expecting that they wouldn’t—even as he’d hoped otherwise. They’d been up against some really amazing acts, and while it would have been unbelievable if they had managed to pull out a win, he is perfectly, perfectly alright to head home with Louis empty-handed.

 

Harry feels like he has everything he ever wanted right next to him in the big bed of the house they’re renting in LA for a few weeks, swearing loudly as he tries to open the bottle of sparkling apple juice.

 

“Let me try,” Harry attempts to say, but Louis just pushes his concern away, preoccupied and loud, _always_ loud, as he curses at the bottle; deciding somehow that Harry is upset and he’s determined to celebrate just being _them_ , instead of celebrating awards they didn’t win.

 

Harry loves him so much.

 

He would take Louis any way he could, but it is so nice to have the obnoxious and noisy version of Louis back from before—the gray-ish, withdrawn, bitter ghost that he’d discovered when he’d come back to London slowly fading away.

 

He never would have blamed Louis for staying that way; for what he’d been through, whatever and however he acted would have been perfectly alright. Harry is just grateful, plain and simple, that even the hell of the last decade hasn’t managed to dim the light that is Louis.

 

That somehow _he_ didn’t dim the light.

 

The light is shining so brightly tonight, win or no win. Louis’ hair is mussed now instead of flawless, skin tanned from their last few weeks in California, blue eyes bright and intense even in the dim candlelight of the bedroom. He’s long since lost his clothes. They’re scattered on the stairs up to the master bedroom, a story all their own. Harry can see the steep curve of Louis’ waist as it flares into his even curvier bum,  and he wants to get his hands on his boyfriend again so much they practically itch with desire.

 

They really shouldn’t. They had some rather spectacular “we didn’t win the Grammys” sex only about fifteen minutes ago. Harry’s skin still feels a bit tacky from sweat and even though Louis assiduously and carefully cleaned up the come, he already feels the dull ache he always feels when he bottoms.

 

He’s felt lucky lots of times in the last year, but never quite as lucky as he feels now—sober and healthy and back making music with his four other favorite boys and against all odds, gaining his _most_ favorite boy’s trust back.

 

Louis finally wrestles open the bottle and he makes an excited yelp as the liquid fizzes into the crystal glasses Harry’s holding, spilling a good portion onto the duvet. Harry doesn’t even bother with a resigned sigh. He was already planning on throwing it in the wash tomorrow morning. It’s covered with come and lube and sweat, accumulated over the last few weeks. He may actually end up burning it instead.

 

“Are you very sorry we didn’t win, darling?” Louis asks, and Harry hates the mournful edge to his tone. Like Louis wanted to win not for himself, but for Harry. And that right there is exactly why Harry has loved Louis for going on ten years now.

 

Nobody loves back more selflessly than Louis does.

 

“Not at all,” Harry admits with a shy smile. “I didn’t really expect to.”

 

“I wanted to win for you,” Louis says, bashful grin in place like he’s nineteen again and they’re confessing their love for the hundredth time in a cold hotel room, buried under a mountain of blankets. He remembers how soft and warm Louis’ eyes were as he whispered secrets that weren’t really all that secret.

 

Harry leans in, brushes his lips against Louis’. “And I wanted to win for you, love.”

 

Louis’ hand has risen to Harry’s hair and his fingers tangle in it. “Hands down, best moment was Beyoncé. Telling her how much you love Partition.”

 

Harry goes bright red again, as if Beyoncé is still with them, just chilling in the bed with some sparkling apple juice. “I can’t believe we talked about that with her,” Harry says going hot and cold from remembered embarrassment.

 

“It was great,” Louis boasts. He’s probably going to be bragging for the next fifty years that Beyoncé said they were cute and that she was rooting for them.

 

There’s a beat of quiet, then Louis speaks. “Have you thought about the house, love?” he asks with a gooey, fond, and truly, horribly indulgent expression on his face. “I love it, you know that. I thought we should just buy it, but you just had to try it first.”

 

Harry knows they’re building the rest of their lives together, but instead of jumping in, like he knows Louis wants him to do sometimes, he almost feels as if he should pace their progress. He knows Louis is committed to rebuilding their relationship and nothing that’s happened in the year since they’ve been off the tour has led Harry to believe that isn’t true, but it still feels like he’s holding out for something.

 

For what, he isn’t sure. Louis forgives him; Louis loves him. Louis is everything Harry’s ever wanted. The last year has been amazing in almost every single detail. There’s absolutely no reason why Harry should be waiting for the other shoe to drop.

 

But he is. He most definitely is.

 

“Not sure I like the floor plan,” Harry says casually, as if the floor plan isn’t perfect for them. There’s even extra bedrooms for the family or for turning into kids rooms, when Harry manages to get his head out of his arse.

 

Louis shoots him a strange, almost befuddled look over his champagne flute. “What are you going on about, Harold?”

 

There’s a certain penetrating look in Louis’ blue eyes as they narrow at him. Harry should have known it was going to be game over in LA the moment Louis sent him the information about the house. It was too perfect, and Harry knew Louis knew, if his giddy bragging was any indication.

 

Buying houses used to be one of their favorite pastimes, and Harry knows Louis doesn’t understand his sudden reticence for keeping all their money firmly in the bank. It’s not like they could even spend it all in their lifetimes, even if they tried.

 

Louis opens his mouth and Harry feels dread sink its claws into his stomach. He really didn’t want to have this conversation tonight, but it seems it’s become inevitable.

 

But before Louis can say a word, his phones rings shrilly.

 

“Shit,” Louis exclaims loudly. “I gotta take this, babe.”

 

Harry is a weak person and despite the serious conversation they were about to have, he has zero qualms about watching Louis’ firm, full bum bounce a little as he walks out of the room.

 

Maybe he can distract Louis with sex. He can almost always distract Louis with sex.

 

It’s not Louis’ fault really, but he talks _loud._ And though he’s gone into the other room to give his caller some privacy, Harry can still Louis’ side of the conversation loud and clear from his position in bed.

 

“Sophie, _no_ ,” Louis begs, and Harry swallows hard at the plaintive tone.

 

It’s Sophie then.

 

Sophie belongs to a group that Louis started, in conjunction with Harry’s own work for recovering alcoholics, except that Louis’ group is for their partners.

 

Sophie is married to Liz, and Liz is an addict.

 

Harry isn’t Liz’s sponsor, but he still feels the pull to check his phone and make sure she hasn’t texted him tonight. If things are bad enough for Sophie to call Louis tonight of all nights, it’s possible something has happened with Liz. Maybe even that she’s relapsed.

 

Harry feels sick and like he always does when things get tough, he feels that familiar tug towards something that might drown out the worst of the chaos. It’s easier these days to ignore it—easier than ever, really—but it never goes away completely.

 

After one deep breath, and then another, Harry slides over and checks his phone. He hasn’t missed a thing. No messages, no texts, no phone calls. So he settles back in bed and decides he’ll have to wait for Louis to come back.

 

Louis comes back sooner than he imagined possible, only a minute or two after Harry has propped himself back up against the headboard.

 

“Everything okay?” Harry asks.

 

Technically, what Sophie tells Louis is supposed to be confidential, but Sophie knows they share most everything and Harry knows Louis has mentioned to her that he asks Harry for advice.

 

Louis smiles brightly. “Fine, actually. She had a bit of a moment, I think, worrying that she won’t be able to forgive Liz and they won’t be able to move on. But they will. I know they will. They’re both so strong.”

 

_Like you_ , Harry wants to say, but he’s silent, looking down and picking at a loose thread on the edge of the duvet.

 

“You’re a bit quiet tonight, love,” Louis says, crawling back into bed. Suddenly the idea of distracting him with sex feels tawdry and a bit cheap, even though they spent much of the evening teasing each other publicly about their sex life.

 

_You’re strong too_ , Harry reminds himself and takes a deep breath. “I’m not ready to buy a house with you,” he says in one rushed breath.

 

Louis looks stunned, the sheet slithering down his bare chest. “You’re not what?”

 

“Not ready to buy a house with you,” Harry admits. “Not ready to adopt children yet. Not ready to move forward.” The last bit seems practically wrenched out of him, from someplace deep inside. He clenches his fists into the sheets and tries really hard not to cry at the devastated expression on Louis’ face.

 

Eight or so years ago, this discussion probably almost certainly would have ended in a huge row, with screaming and accusations and tears and not speaking for days on end. It almost certainly would have ended with booze on Harry’s end, and weed on Louis’. Probably some hot makeup sex in which they carefully avoided the entire subject that had caused the fight in the first place.

 

But now they’re grownups. They’ve matured. They’ve gone through the worst that fate could throw at them, and they’ve come through intact on the other side.

 

Harry watches as Louis takes one steadying breath and then another.

 

“Why not?” he finally asks, and he does sound calm. But his voice cracks a bit at the end.

 

Hysteria bubbles up Harry’s throat. Louis means _everything_ and he’s going to lose him. Someday Louis will look at him and see the utter waste that Harry nearly made of his life. He’ll realize just how many bad choices Harry has made. He’ll wonder if he’ll fall back off the wagon and start drinking. He’ll leave before Harry can do that.

 

“I’m not worth this,” Harry gasps out, and it sounds awfully like he’s got the worst self-esteem in the world but Louis knows better. He digs deeper. He reaches over and carefully, gently untangles Harry’s clenched fingers from the sheet and grips them tightly with his own. Grounds Harry. Like he’s always done.

 

“You’re worth everything,” Louis says softly. Matter of factly. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

 

“You might not be someday.” The words sound even sillier coming out of Harry’s mouth than they do in his head, but it’s undeniable that he worries about that sometimes and that worry holds him back. And he doesn’t want to be held back anymore. He wants it all and he wants it with Louis.

 

Houses, weddings, babies. All the things he could have so easily if he could just figure his shit out.

 

“Harry.” Louis still sounds so reasonable, when Harry is a mess. It’s quite frustrating. “I forgive you. I forgave you a year ago. I’ve never looked back. I want this. I want our future. Maybe it’s time you figure out how to forgive yourself.”

 

That’s all it takes for the tears to fall. Harry pulls into himself tightly, letting go of Louis’ hand, but it only takes a moment for Louis to wrap him up in his own arms, his body warm and reassuring. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers into Harry’s hair as he cries. “Just stay here with me.”

 

In the end, it’s not quite the celebration—or non-celebration—that Harry planned. There’s tears and tissues and way more snot than he’d normally accept when romance is called for. But like they do nowadays, they talk it out. Louis wants to move forward. Harry’s scared to, but it becomes very clear that Louis, while always supportive, is ready to start the rest of their lives.

 

“It’s just one house, love,” he repeats again and again. And it shouldn’t be so much for Louis to ask for or for Harry to give.

 

Harry calls Brian with a tear-clogged voice and arranges to do some more counseling via skype.

 

Then he falls asleep with Louis wrapped around him, feeling more at peace than he has in months.

 

\----

 

But like all things worth doing, forgiving himself isn’t quite the easy task that Harry anticipated it might be.

 

It’s grueling and painful and there are moments when Harry wants to give up. He’s not worth this. He’s not worth the benediction of forgiveness.

 

Harry cries more than he felt like ever did in rehab. He remembers feeling miserable and sick and lonely and so very, very alone. He’s not alone now, he’s got Louis to come home to, Louis next to him in bed every night, but somehow he’s still crying. Still struggling with a basic concept as simple as accepting himself.

 

He throws himself into his work for recovering alcoholics. Louis is hard at work with Liam on Sam Smith’s new album, and sometimes it feels like they’re just passing ships in the night, only having enough time to crawl into bed and hold each other tightly.

 

Even though they’re both busy, Harry never doubts that Louis will stay. He’s committed. Every word, every action affirms that. It’s just Harry who feels like he’s not worth the hassle.

 

Some days are better than others, and though he feels like there are more and more good than bad, the bad still exist. Harry redoubles his efforts, even though Brian tells him it’s more than likely the bad days will never really go away.

 

Louis deserves nothing less than someone who is just as ready to forgive as he is.

 

Six months later, Harry is sitting at his desk, reading through his email, when he sees it.

 

It’s an email from the realtor in LA.

 

A few weeks after they’d returned to London, Louis had mentioned casually over dinner that the house they’d rented in LA had sold—Harry had been horribly wrecked and had cried himself to sleep, Louis apologizing over and over for his thoughtless comment.

 

But Harry’s never forgotten the house.

 

Some days, that’s what gets him through his therapy—the towering white walls and airy ceilings and the big kitchen with its quirky hand-painted door pulls, and the lush, flowering gardens surrounding the pool. It was a beautiful house and Harry would love nothing more than to live there with Louis and help him raise their children there.

 

But even though it rarely leaves his thoughts, that gorgeous house in its secure, gated community, he’s long since acknowledged to himself that it’s out of the question. It’s already been sold and nobody getting their hands on a piece of property like that would let it go so easily.

 

Except, the realtor writes, the house is about to go on the market again. Would he be interested in placing a bid before it goes public?

 

Harry sits at his desk for a long time, staring at his laptop screen.

 

He doesn’t understand why but literally his _very_ first impulse is to reply to the realtor in the affirmative. Six months ago, he would have hedged and hesitated and ended up sending an email a few weeks later saying they weren’t interested, if he bothered replying at all.

 

Today, his fingers want to fly over the keyboard and tell the relator _, yes, he wants it._ He wants it so much he might cry if he doesn’t get it.

 

He calls Brian.

 

“I want to buy this house,” Harry says when Brian picks up in lieu of something actually resembling a greeting. But it’s okay because Brian is the person he trusts most, next to Louis. Brian has seen the best and the worst of Harry and he’s never, _ever_ , judged him.

 

“Then buy the house,” Brian says with what’s clearly a smile on his face. His tone is light and Harry himself is still a bit mind-boggled.

 

He didn’t think he was ready. He didn’t think he was even close to being ready.

 

“What?” Brian continues when Harry doesn’t say anything. “Don’t tell me you and Tommo have blown all your money already.”

 

“No, no,” Harry manages to choke out. “Money’s not the issue.”

 

“Then?” Brian says and he’s clearly distracted.

 

“Because I. Want. To. Buy. A. House,” Harry states clearly and slowly.

 

That gets Brian’s attention.

 

“You want to buy a house? That’s _great_ , Harry. Buy the house! Louis will be so happy. I’m so happy for you both.”

 

“I thought I’d feel different,” Harry explains. He feels exactly the same. He still has shit days. He still has days when he wants a drink more than he wants to breathe. He still has days when it’s tough to get out of bed. He shouldn’t have those days and still want to buy this house.

 

“Harry,” Brian says with a sigh. “Forgiveness is a process, something I think Louis could tell you about more intimately than I ever could. I never had to forgive you for anything. He did. And you do. Maybe you already have. But it’s not black and white, yeah? It’s grey. And you’ve been growing lighter.”

 

“Louis said so too, a few weeks ago,” Harry admits. “And I’ve been feeling much better. Not all the time, of course, but a lot of the time.”

 

“Louis is a smart man. But listen, Harry. Recovery isn’t a science. Recovery doesn’t mean that you never have a bad day. Recovery means that you _try_ every day. That’s all.” He pauses. “Buy the house, Harry.”

 

Harry stares at the screen of the laptop, at the picture attached to the email of the house he’s dreamt about for six months. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes. “Okay. Don’t tell Louis. I want it to be a surprise.”

 

Harry can practically feel Brian roll his eyes through his phone. “Of course, you idiot.”

 

\-----

 

Harry spends the rest of the afternoon finalizing the sale, moving assets around and hoping that Louis won’t notice before he has a chance to surprise him.

 

Two nights later, Harry asks—no, _demands_ —that Louis give him an evening free from the album and they have a real date.

 

He debates making reservations at one of their favorite restaurants, but ends up opting for a quiet dinner at home. He has a feeling they’re going to both be very emotional when Louis finds out the truth.

 

They’re eating dessert when Harry pulls the email conditionally confirming the sale out of his pocket, fingers trembling. He sets it gently in front of Louis and sits back, waiting with a heart beating right of his chest.

 

“What’s this?” Louis asks, setting his spoon down, and reaching for the paper. The furrow between his eyebrows deepens as he reads. Then he reads again, face completely blank.

 

He glances up, confusion all over his face.

 

“I don’t understand,” he finally says. “What is this?”

 

Harry can barely hold it in anymore. “I bought us a house. Actually,” he corrects with what he knows is an extremely dopey smile, “ _we’re_ going to be buying a house.”

 

“Is this _the_ house?” he asks, his eyebrows shooting practically to the ceiling. “The one in LA I loved so much?”

 

“The one _we_ loved so much,” Harry says, gazing at his boy. He’s so cute tonight with the fluffiest hair and a jumper that falls right past his wrists to his hands. It’s actually probably Harry’s jumper.

 

Louis still seems to be in shock. “But what, how, _when_ ,” he splutters.

 

The last six months has been really tough at points, pretty much the same as the previous six years, but it all feels worth it now, staring at his future’s really blue eyes as they keep widening.

 

“It was _sold_ ,” Louis finally exclaims.

 

“And then it went back on the market again,” Harry says and he knows he sounds rather smug. It’s a fucking _awesome_ surprise, and so often Louis is the one who plans the surprises, so Harry’s gonna give himself a really big pat on the back for this one.

 

“And you bought it. Or arranged for _us_ to buy it,” Louis clarifies, as if he has to make absolutely sure he understands.

 

Harry nods.

 

That’s all it takes. Louis is up out of his chair suddenly, the legs scraping noisily across the wooden floor, and Harry doesn’t even care, he’s up too, and they collide in the middle of their dining room, holding each other so tight that he can’t even breathe. He’s not even sure he wants to.

 

Somehow they end up on the floor and they’re kissing and then Louis pulls back, eyes alight and twinkling. “Marry me,” he says, as if this is the most normal thing to do when you’re on the floor of the dining room.

 

“What?” Harry’s jaw drops. “ _What?_ ”

 

“Marry me,” Louis says. “I want to buy this house together. With you as my husband.”

 

For a split second, Harry wonders if this is all happening too fast, but again, like with the house, it only feels right. Like that’s _exactly_ what he wants too.

 

“Okay,” he giggles. “ _Yes_.”

 

“I love you,” Louis breathes out, wonder and joy shining in his eyes. “So fucking much.”

 

“Forever,” Harry can’t help but agree. “Gonna love you forever.”

 

\---

 

They have a small civil ceremony and get married just so they can sign the deed Harry and Louis Tomlinson-Styles. There isn’t a dry eye in the realtor’s office.

 

Six months later, Harry insists on planning a _real_ wedding. Farah is their flower girl and Zayn and Liam sit in the front row, holding hands.

 

When Louis promises to cherish and love Harry for the rest of his life, Harry can’t help the tears.

 

When Harry tells Louis that the thought of him and their future is what keeps him trying each day to be a better man, Louis cries too.

 

They’re not perfect—they won’t _ever_ be perfect, but it’s still a perfect ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](http://bethaboolou.tumblr.com/). come and say hi!


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